One Dangerous Game
by She Who Shines
Summary: Hogswatch wasn't the FIRST time Susan met Teatime, even if she wanted it to be. Through a series of rounds, they played one dangerous game before. This story takes place after 'Soul Music' and before 'Hogfather'.
1. Learning the Rules

**Author's Notes:**** I wrote this really late and was totally delirious when I did so, so it's a little crazy. But oh well. I just thought I'd post it up and see what people think; it is intended to be a oneshot, but if people ask I might expand on it. So read, review, and hopefully enjoy! Oh, and for those of you who are reading my _Not Again_ story, an update is fast approaching!**

**Second Author's Notes: Well, I wrote another chapter for no reason other than... well, I just couldn't help it. So I'm changing the name and making this more of a story ark. I know, I'm a bad girl.**

Round One:

Teatime

***

She hated masquerades. She _hated _them. She hated the banquets, the small talk, the pompous nobles she was supposed to make small talk _with_, and she hated – _hated –_ the dancing. She hated it. So as Susan Sto-Helit sat there at the banquet table, making small talk with the nobles, preparing to dance, she was in a really, _really_, bad mood. But she was a duchess, and had to be there.

"...and see, dear," Lady Belladonna Barbaloena said in her swirling, extravagant voice, "_that's _why any respectable lady of nobility – regardless of their status – should find herself a husband. Just a charming fellow to come in and sweep you off your feet, take up your lands while you crochet – "

Susan smiled and nodded as pleasantly as she could, simultaneously nearly biting off her tongue.

_Yes, I very much want to live my life knitting in rocking chairs, cooking dinners, and sighing dociley, _she thought sarcastically. But the thought was in the back of her mind, even further away than the lady's voice. Susan was much more interested in the Black Blur.

Not that she would have paid any attention to Lady Belladonna Barbaloena anyway; no, she would have flat-out ignored her no matter _wh__at _the circumstances. But the Black Blur was something that caught her eye, and probably would have distracted her even from a stimulating conversation. At the head of the table, behind the backs of the diners, a black and yellow streak sliding passed them all in the corner of her eye. She was hardly catching it, hardly even noticing it in her peripheral vision, but it was definitely there – whatever 'it' was.

There was again, a flicker in the corner of her eye, sliding by... by her host's meal. Looking back, that had always been where it was lingering. Shifting in the shadows in that one, far off end of the room. She could have sworn that she had seen something drip into the man's soup, but it had been so quick, so smooth.

"Excuse me, Madam," a soft voice chirped politely. Lady Belladonna Barbaloena gasped and glanced up behind her. Susan followed her gaze.

It was a very young man, and if he was yet twenty he couldn't have been three years passed it. He had perfect blond curls and an almost angelic face, boyishly handsome that reminded her of a cherub minus the chubbiness. He would have been quite handsome, if he didn't send chills down your spine by his mere posture, or those terrible black and white eyes that just screamed PSYCHOKILLER! in capital letters. But that was just silly; you really shouldn't judge someone by how they look.

Susan, however, was finding that very hard not to do under the present circumstances.

"Yes...?" Lady Belladonna squeaked.

"Are you truly Lady Barbaloena?" he asked.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

He pursed his lips and glanced down and to the left thoughtfully, his eyes boring and blazing into nothing.

"You are much younger than I had expected. The way the Duchess of Pembroke described you I expected you to be at least fifty, but you don't look quite thirty."

"_WHAT?!_" she gasped, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

"Oh, it really is nothing," he assured her in his high, off voice. "But your hair doesn't look gray at all. And your eyes, they really aren't beady in the slightest. I don't understand – "

The Lady was steaming as she shoved her chair back, dipped her head at the cherub from hell, and went stalking after the Duchess of Pembroke. Susan sighed in relief as the man slid into the Lady's seat.

"I take it you weren't enjoying the conversation?" he asked, not bothering to look at her as he took a single breadroll and sliced it perfectly in half with a knife that _hadn't _been at the table. It hadn't even scrunched up as his blade slid through it, and how familiarly he handled the weapon made Susan a little uneasy.

"Thank you," she said, realizing he'd realized her discomfort and sent the woman running because of it. As grateful as she should be, she couldn't help but feel unnerved around him, and that maybe spending time with the Lady would have been the safer option.

He took a bit of honeybutter onto the flat of his blade and started to spread it nonchalantly. The knife didn't look like a knife that was _normally _used for eating. It wasn't, and the fact that the man beside her didn't see a problem with using it for _both _purposes just goes to show you how insane he was. He _had _washed it, after all, so what was the problem?

"My name's Teatime," he replied absently. "What's your's?"

"Susan," she answered, watching him intently with a raised brow. He didn't feel _right _(saying he unnerved her would be a drastic understatement), but something about him was terribly interesting, and she continued (horrified) to watch him.

He nodded, and sat back, leaving his roll untouched.

"Susan. Very sensible."

"Teatime. Like around four o'clock in the afternoon?"

He stiffened, still looking straight ahead. She realized she'd just struck a nerve; somehow, she had a hunch that it might be useful to remember that. Susan had the unnerving feeling that they would meet again, and that there was no guarantee that it would be on friendly terms.

"No; I did say _teh-ah-tim-eh_. Please pronounce it correctly," the way each syllable formed on his lips sent tiny shivers down her spine. She considered mispronouncing it again, as listening to him enunciate each sound gave her the same feeling going into a haunted house did – exhilarating, and terrifying. But she had a hunch that he was much more dangerous than a haunted house.

"Alright, then, _Teatime. _What brings you here?"

"You, Susan."

She blinked.

"What?" And then it dawned on her. "I saw you. The black blur – "

He nodded.

"You're the only one in room. I wanted to know what was different about you."

"What have you found?" she asked, straightening.

He finally turned to her, meeting her eyes.

"You're very different, Miss Sto-Helit."

"I never told you my last name," she replied, her voice low as their eyes locked.

"You don't have to. I know enough to know Death's granddaughter when I see her."

"I'm here because I'm a Duchess. Why are you?" the moment she asked the question, she immediately wished she hadn't; the smile that spread across half of his mouth (making his angelic face look terribly eerie) gave her a bad feeling.

"Because I'm an Assassin. In training."

She clutched the tablecloth discretely in surprise. A few dishes clinked, but he didn't seem to notice.

"The bowl of soup – " she was about to stand and call out when an unnaturally strong arm clamped down on hers, restraining her as those terrible, cold eyes bored into her. Now it was she who stared straight ahead darkly. "Release my arm," she growled through clenched teeth, sliding a hand discretely towards one of the steak knives nearby. It only made her angrier to see him grinning in the corner of her eye. She hid the knife in the folds of the tablecloth for later use.

"No, I don't think so, Susan," Teatime was referring to her standing, not the knife. He hadn't noticed as far as she could tell. "It's too late, anyway; he's already ingested the poison. He'll be stone dead by midnight," he glanced at the lord, a little longingly. "I don't like killing like this. It's not satisfying at all." He shook his head gravely.

"That's why you came to talk to me. You knew I saw and you knew I'd figure it out – "

"No," Teatime corrected. "No, I didn't know, but I don't like to take unnecessary chances. But now I do, and I'm glad I didn't underestimate you."

"What are you going to do now?" Susan asked.

He grinned charmingly. Or at least it should have been charming. He made the otherwise friendly expression feel terrifying.

"I'm going to go."

And then he was gone, like that, in a black blur. Susan sprang to her feet, brandishing the knife below her waist as she glanced around wildly, looking for a streak of gold and midnight darkness against the endless chatter and bright colors. But she saw nothing, and got quite a few shaky glances from those surrounding her. Only then did she realized how crazy she must look; unnaturally skinny, a mess of white hair pinned up to the back of her head that wouldn't stop slithering around like a snake, a gothic, slightly lacy black dress, a small, black mask covering her eyes, and a steak knife glinting dangerously in her right hand.

Honestly, she didn't give a damn.

*

Teatime almost laughed as the Lord passed Susan off as having one too many when she tried to convince him he'd been poisoned. He'd think differently at midnight, when rather poetic justice would come about. The Duchess looked ready to murder – something he knew well, having murder as a profession himself. The way her hand tightened and strangled the poor hilt of the blade made him want to smirk.

He should probably go. His service was complete, his mission over, he had succeeded. But it had been so terribly _boring_. Before Teatime could graduate, he had to inhume someone via poison, and he had taken this opportunity to do so. It hadn't been satisfying or interesting at all. It'd been slightly fun slipping about the room through the shadows, but he was _do__ne_, and he hadn't even gotten a chance to stab/drown/strangle/nail anybody. It wasn't _fair_. It was so _dull, _and assassinations shouldn't be_ dull_ – this was what he _loved, _for goodness sake, what kept him going. He owed it to himself to do something interesting tonight, since this escapade had been such a bitter disappointment. He chewed his lip thoughtfully as an upbeat song started playing and the guests began dancing. Some idiot asked _Susan _to dance.

Susan. Teatime rather liked Susan. She was smart, very dry, and a tinge sarcastic. She was most definitely interesting; especially with that knife she thought he hadn't noticed. He smirked again; yes, he really _did _like her. That would make the toying with before actually killing her _so _much more fun.

*

Said idiot cowered before Susan as she glared at him terribly, twitching the steak knife dangerously.

"Sorry!" the poor soul squeaked before running off.

I'd _did _write what happened, but it was censored during editing. Sorry for the inconvenience.

"Just have that effect on people, do you?" a high, off voice asked behind her. She whirled around, but there was no one there. Her brow furrowed before she felt that terrible, prickly feeling at the nape of her neck that meant someone was behind her. The damn Assassin was literally dancing circles around her.

She didn't bother to turn (he'd only dance around some more), but grasped her knife firmly, taking in deep, long breathes and attempting to remain calm. Every inch of her wanted to turn, to _see _this newfound threat, but she resisted. This both agitated and encouraged Teatime; on the one hand, it'd be more fun to watch her face. On the other, he rather liked that she was fed up with him and bothered to show it. It wouldn't be any fun if he killed her here and now, so he simply slid in and out of the shadows until he faced her.

Susan didn't have time to blink before he was holding _her _knife hand with his left and had _his _knife hand and her waist and was stepping into the music. They looked like some kind of halloween horror show, Susan's fiery glare, his icy stare, and the deadly knives held so stiffly.

It _felt_ like some kind of a halloween horror show, too. Almost like a nightmare – you know, one of those ones where all of a sudden your frozen and can't run or speak. Well, that's just how it felt for Susan, except that she was feeling rather asphyxiated as well, and her was cutting off the circulation to her hand with his rough grip. His hand was surprisingly warm, for someone with such terribly cold, mismatched eyes. It was rough, too. It tingled, like static.

LET GO OF ME NOW, it was like gravel, like stone against stone – low, quiet, and threatening. He just grinned.

"I did save you from Lady Belladonna. The least you could do is give me a dance."

I.

DON'T.

DANCE.

"You certainly are Death's granddaughter."

She started to panic as they headed towards the arch into the garden. This wasn't going well at all – no, not in the slightest. She just knew he intended to do something horrible (that devilish grin on his angelic face made it clear enough) and no matter how hard she pulled back she couldn't break from his grip.

LET ME GO OR I'LL SCREAM.

"No you won't."

"And why won't I?"

"I _am _the one with a knife at your waist. I'll just kill you and slip away. But I really don't want to just yet; you're so terribly interesting."

She tried so hard to bend her elbow (the one hold the knife), but he held it so straight and so firmly. It wasn't long before the music grew quieter and the moonlight poured down over his blond curls, making them glow and casting his face with befitting shadows. His one black eye stared out at her eerily, and she just knew something terrible would happen if she didn't get away from him _now_.

So Susan did the one thing she never failed to do when dancing. She stepped on his foot. Hard.

She didn't run two steps before he caught her arm, but how wide his eyes got as her heel came crashing down was just priceless.

Grasping her wrist, he swung Susan around like a morning-star (the weapon) into one of the pillars in the castle courtyard. She slammed roughly into the stone as her knife went flying and he pressed against her shoulders with him palms, grinning.

"Almost, Susan," he said encouragingly. "I'm sure you can do better, though."

"This is all some twisted game to you, isn't it?" she asked in disbelief, her brow furrowing.

"I don't see what's _twisted_about it."

She blinked back at him as he breathed in deeply, looking slightly flushed and terribly exhilarated. It was now that he decided this was _definitely_ worth the most boring inhumation. Susan was _fun_.

"Everything!" she argued.

"I guess we'll have to disagree. You don't have to feel the same way about a game to play it so long as you play."

Susan narrowed her eyes.

"And what if I don't 'play'?"

"I'd be terribly disappointed, kill you, and go home."

"So I have to play."

"No," he said quite cheerfully. "No, not at all. Only if you want to."

"What are the rules?"

"Hmm..." he said speculatively. "I hadn't given that much thought."

"You can't have a game without rules."

"Oh, no, you definitely can," he corrected with an emphatic nod. "It just doesn't work out that well."

"As I'm playing for my life here," Susan said, "I'd rather like it to work out well."

"Your hair is moving," he observed, completely changing the subject as his eyes flicked to her shifting locks.

"It does that. Now about the rules – "

He reached up distractedly to one of her curling curls and coiled a long finger around it, gazing at it as a child would a ladybug – eyes full of wonder and awe.

"I think your hair likes me."

This was it; he wasn't paying _her _much mind, it was the opportunity she needed. So Susan took a few notes (he has the attention span of a five year old, he likes games, he's clinically insane) since she still had that feeling that this wasn't the last time they'd see one another, shoved him in the chest with her palms and ran for her life.

She did considerably better this time, making it the full five strides in the dark of the night into the hedge maze. Susan ran wildly, clutching her black skirt through all the twists and turns. Somehow, she made it to the center, where a single fountain lay. It had a cupid standing at the top, bow strung and notched as it aimed at the moon. Susan stopped to compare its happy little face to her hunter, and realized that no matter how similar they looked, that they looked totally different.

The governess took a step forwards, tripped over her ungraceful feet and fell – head first – into the fountain. It wasn't very deep, no more than three feet, but a hand clamped to the back of her neck as the icy water swarmed around her and _wouldn't let her up_. She opened her mouth to scream, realizing her mistake as water gushed into her lungs. She flailed her arms wildly, scratching at the arm holding her down and kicking out blindly behind her, but she caught nothing, stopped nothing. The world was slipping slowly away, fog filling her sight and everything becoming terribly slow. She could hear the sound of her heart beat, and the water searing into her didn't hurt anymore. Everything stilled, and just as she felt herself fading into oblivion the hand slid up into her white locks and dragged her out by her hair. She tried to screech as the pain filled her, but it came out a croak as her throat was so red and raw water spewed out of her. Teatime pulled her head far back, all the way up to his shoulder, resting it beside his neck where he could quietly whisper in her ear.

"Why, Susan," he chirped gleefully. "That was a _wonderful _idea. I always did love mazes."

She clenched her eyes shut, trying to ignore the fact that she was leaning into him for support – had to, if she didn't want to fall into the ground, that is. That fact rather infuriated her.

"You nearly killed me," she managed.

"And then I changed my mind," he explained cheerfully. "I'm glad you're still alive. This is far too fun a game to cut short so soon."

Susan could barely stand, she felt so weak, her lungs so ripped. Teatime took a step back, sliding down onto the ground and leaning against the hedge with her beside him.

"Your move, Susan," he whispered softly into her ear, lips barely an inch away. She shivered in revulsion and trembled in the cold.

So it was her move. What would a heroine in a story do?

Well, in those fairy tales, a princess would sit here until Prince Charming came and rescued her. She hadn't seen Ymp in quite a while, she wouldn't meet Lobsang for another two books, and she'd never fancied herself like any of _those _fragile creatures anyway so that wouldn't be much help.

In espionage books, she'd do a few quick karate chops, catch him off guard and run off. Unfortunately, she doubted she much had the strength to do much more than stand. What else could she do?

The knife, it glinted under his left hand in the moonlight. She could see it out of the corner of her eye.

Susan just _knew _she was going to throw up when this was done.

"I'm waiting, Susan," he whispered.

The governess tilted back her head, turned it and met his eyes.

"I completely," she said softly, "and thoroughly _loathe _you."

With that, she leaned forwards and kissed him.

She could literally feel the shock on his face. It was a good half a second before he pushed forwards towards her, and she was surprised by how pleasant it was. Er, how _not completely and utterly revolting_, rather. Slowly, she shifted her right hand towards his left. Carefully, she reached towards his blade. Gently, her hand brushed the hilt...

Susan felt his lips smile up against hers and his hand clamp down on her wrist. He slid his cheek up hers until his mouth came to her ear.

"Oh, no, Susan," he said softly. "I don't think so."

"Damn!" she called, sitting back across from him as she pulled away. Teatime grinned at her.

"This is a fun game," he said happily.

Susan crossed her arms.

"Speak for yourself," she grumbled, pulling herself to her feet. When she looked up, he was already standing.

"May I kiss you again?"

Susan blinked, a little dumbfounded.

"Most certainly not!" she replied vehemently. "But you don't seem to type to ask."

"I was trying to be polite," he explained.

"Ah." Susan glanced around, edging backwards slowly. He mimicked her every step. "You're move."

He grinned.

"It _is _a fun game..." he repeated, taking a step closer as he walked her backwards through the maze. She certainly hoped they didn't come to a dead end – that just wouldn't go over well in the _slightest_.

It was about then that her back hit a shrubbery.

_Damn! _she thought again.

"Let me think," the Assassin said thoughtfully, stepping even closer. He stared at one of his hands intently as it came to her face, and her staticky hair reached out to it again. "See, your hair really _does _like me. And I like you, Susan. You're so... _intriguing_. And I think you find me intriguing, too. You don't have to admit it, and I have a hunch that you never would, but you do."

"Perhaps in my wildest of nightmares," she growled. "Now get your hand out of my hair."

He looked at her very seriously.

"Get your hair out of my hand."

He _was _right. Her hair _had _closed the gap. And that just made her furious.

_Bad, hair, BAD! _she thought angrily, attempting to coax it back to her head. _You know better!_

Teatime must have noticed, because he was grinning again. He really did have a charming smile, and a pleasant presence, too. It was amazing how creepy he was in spite of (or was it because of...?) it.

His pulled his hand back slightly, and her hair followed. He watched, enraptured, twisting his fingers and watching her pale white locks – almost blue in the moonlight – curl and contort. Susan gritted her teeth to keep from growling.

Teatime brushed his knuckles against her pale cheekbone, still staring at his hand intently.

"This feels good. You feel good." He cupped the nape of her neck and kissed her again, fire and anger searing through her. Susan kneed him between the legs and shoved him in the chest, the fury he inspired giving her back some of her strength. She pulled back her fist and struck him hard across the cheek before running, ignoring how terribly her lungs hurt. She'd made it two steps before something nicked the side of her neck. She stopped still, pressing her hand to her now bleeding throat before she heard the sound of something slam through a hedge. The knife, it'd gone passed her _neck –_

"I still have another, please hold still," he called cheerfully. She whirled around and folded her arms angrily, watching him take a few quick steps up to her. The Assassin glanced at the moon to check the time, then sighed sadly.

"I have to go, Susan. I should have left a while ago. But let's play again, you and I."

"Not if I have any say in it!" she huffed.

"You don't," he grinned in reply. "Maybe it won't be for a while, but we _will_ play again, and _then _I'll try to kill you."

"If we do, Teatime," she said with a lethal glare, I'LL BE READY.

The way she said it would have made any sane man tremble. The Assassin just grinned. It would be _fun_.

"Good," he replied.

She could barely see him as he leapt over the hedge in the blue moonlight – but she did, be it out of the corner of her eye.

Round One went to Teatime.

**A/N:**** REVIEW!!!**

**Please...?  
**


	2. The Game Continues

**Author's Notes: Well, it turns out that I'm incapable of writing oneshots. There's going to be a few more rounds in here, it seems, each of 'em oneshots in their own right, but they'll build on one another. Tell me what you think, please, as I just thrive on reviews.**

Round Two:

Susan

***

Susan was feeling a little paranoid, and she knew it. Why she kept checking after all this time she didn't know, but she couldn't help it. She was fidgety all day if she didn't know it was _there_, and she couldn't fall asleep unless it was out of her sight – and exactly where she left it.

She tossed under the sheets angrily over to her side. Susan didn't like it when she _had _to do something. Yes, she liked routines, the orderliness, straightforward and simpleness of them, but she didn't _have _to keep them if she didn't want to. She liked working because it made her feel normal, but she didn't _have _to. She liked drinking tea because it warmed her up and helped her think, but she didn't _have _to. She didn't like checking for the knife because she had to, and it was tonight that Susan was trying to convince herself that she didn't.

Death's granddaughter remembered finding it in the shrubs, practical and simple. Why she'd picked up the darn thing she didn't really know, but as she had glanced around for that troublesome Assassin she had slipped it from the branches before she'd gone back inside. She'd taken it home and hidden it in her drawer, and ever since then just _knew _that he'd be coming back for it.

Susan slid from under the covers angrily and walked over to her drawer in resignation. She just couldn't be at peace as long as she didn't _know._ Death's granddaughter slid the drawer open and shuffled through the almost all black dresses (folded very neatly) until she came to the blade. Susan sighed in relief with a satisfied nod to see it safe and sound.

"So _that's_ where you hid it," a thoughtful voice mused.

Susan whipped around, brandishing the dagger dangerously. Teatime was by the window, holding himself up by his arms. She lived in an apartment currently, and was three stories up. The fact that he was holding himself with the flats of his arms on her windowsill thirty feet _above _hard pavement was a little unnerving.

"Doesn't that _hurt?_" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"A little, but there's a tiny crack that I can shove my feet into. I don't mind so much, though." He shrugged, almost fell, caught himself, and grinned charmingly as he shuffled to a more stable position. It was all a little discombobulating. "May I have my knife back, please?"

Susan scoffed in disbelief.

"Seeing as last time we saw one another you said the next time we saw one another you'd try to _kill _me, I think I'll hold onto it."

"But if you give me the knife," he argued, "you won't have to worry about me coming back for it."

"I won't have to worry about _anything_," she replied with a glare.

Teatime sighed sadly.

"How about I rain-check killing you? I really miss my knife."

"Don't you have another one?" Susan asked.

"Yes, but that one was my _favorite_."

"Your favorite knife.?" It was and it wasn't a question.

He nodded.

"You know how some children just have this one teddybear, that they just can't bear to part with, and if they have any other it just isn't the same?"

Now he was comparing knives and teddybears. How crazy could he _get?_

"Please?" he seemed so… _abject _and _pitiful_. It was hard to believe this was the man who had nearly drowned her. He really didn't seem like a 'man' at all. Teatime pursed his lips in agitation. "If you don't give me the knife I'll come in and take it."

"That'd make you a _thief_."

"No, _you _stole my knife. I'm just coming to get it back."

"No," she corrected confidently. "You _left _your knife and I picked it up. That is not thievery."

"Why _did _you take it?" he asked curiously, eyes boring down and to the left thoughtfully.

"You'd just tried to kill me and I had no way of knowing that you wouldn't again. Why do you _think _I did?"

The Assassin shrugged again, this time managing to keep a good hold on the windowsill.

"I don't know. I just want my knife back."

Susan raised a brow.

"And you say you'll come back and kill me _later?_"

He brightened and nodded emphatically.

"I'm taking a rain-check," he confirmed.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she thought. She really didn't _want _to give it back, if only to agitate him, but when it all came down to it, at the very least she wouldn't have to keep checking to see if the darn thing was still there or not. Not to mention, he sounded quite serious about coming and getting it and she had a hunch that _that _would be a _bad _thing.

"Oh, fine," she sighed. "Wait here."

Susan went out of her bedroom, into the living area, grabbed a poker (there was no _way _she'd give him the dagger if she didn't have a weapon of her own), came back, and slowly approached the window. She held it out to him blade first with her left hand, holding the poker with her right. She was ready to lift it up and knock him over the edge at any second if she had to.

Teatime grasped the flat of the blade with his thumb and pointer finger and flipped the small knife from her fingers. He caught the hilt easily, the moonlight glinting from its silvery surface and hitting his black glass eye eerily. Susan took a couple steps back to be on the safe side as he swung his legs up over the sill, still staring at his small dagger. He gazed at it for a few more seconds before grinning up at her.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Susan dipped her head apprehensively.

"Now, if you could _go…?_"

"Oh, Susan, but I just _arrived_," he replied as he stood to his feet.

"This isn't a social call. It's after midnight, for goodness sake, Teatime!"

He visibly flinched.

"_Teh-ah-tim-eh_. We've been over this before."

Each syllable had the strength of a crack of thunder. Susan smirked.

"Have we, now? Well, _Tea_time, unless you want to go over it again _GET OUT!_"

He was standing in front of her before she could blink, him glaring at her with his tiny knife a few inches from her cheek and his face not much farther. She didn't flinch, though.

"_Tea_time," she repeated.

He continued to glare at her for a few more seconds, but then his gaze softened dangerously. Yes, _dangerously_.

"Rain-check," he said softly, brushing the flat of the blade against her throat. "But I'll be back."

Again he was a black blur, like the first time she saw him, and he was out the window in a flash. Somehow, though, Susan had a hunch that she'd won this round, and fell asleep grinning.


	3. Rematch

**Author's Notes: It seems I'm a bit inspired today - two chapters in one night, unheard of, eh? Yes, I know a similar scene to this one took place in my alternate universe story 'Literally', but oh well. This just HAD to happen. And I do plan to make Susan completely denying that they know one another in Hogfather make sense, but it'll take the rest of the story to figure out WHY that happens. Enjoy, and (more importantly!) REVIEW!**

Round Three:

Teatime

***

"Perfect," Susan sighed happily, nodding in satisfaction at the bench she'd spent the last half hour moving.

No, it wasn't the actual _moving _that had been time consuming; it'd been finding exactly _where _to move it to. You see, she'd learned that there was a special distance from children's playgrounds that was just lovely to sit in and listen. Far enough away that they looked like they were playing sweetly, close enough that she could hear them laughing and talking, and yet far enough that she didn't have to hear what they were talking _about _(spilling guts and exploding brains, usually. Ah, what it was to be young).

So Susan had spent the last while experimenting with distances for the park bench, and at last she had reached the 'sweet spot', so to speak. She eased herself onto the wooden bench and watched her new charges, Twyla and Gawain, look like they were playing sweetly as she listened to them laugh. They certainly had innocent sounding names. Death's granddaughter smirked; no, they weren't innocent in the slightest, but they simply entertaining and clever children. As far as she could tell, they and she were going to get along just fine. If only she could get their mother to stop curtsying to her.

But that was part of the process. Now she had a normal job in a normal household with normal children to look after. This was all the start of her new, _normal _life. She sighed in contentment.

"You look awfully happy," someone observed.

Susan groaned.

"Not you again, _please!_" she called in exasperation, not bothering to turn around and see Teatime leaning on the bench, his palms pressing against the edge of the back support. She knew enough recognize his distinct voice when she heard it.

"How old are you, Susan? Those children aren't yours, are they?"

The newly appointed governess slammed her book open (yes, that's possible when it comes to Death's granddaughter) and started reading the first line.

"That's none of your bloody business," she grumbled.

"No need to get… _hostile_," he replied cheerfully.

"What are you doing here, Teatime? Are you going to kill me yet?" Susan growled as she reread the first sentence for the fifth time.

"No, this was all due to chance," he explained, his voice high and chipper. "I just happened to see you and thought I'd say 'hi!'."

Susan rolled her eyes and slammed her book shut (she was getting a little tired of reading _Darel had never liked roses _over and over again), stood to her feet angrily and whirled around on him.

"So you've said hi," her voice was dangerously low. NOW _GO!_

"No, I haven't yet," Teatime replied matter-of-factly. Then he grinned, "Hi, Susan!"

"I just want to have a normal evening watching normal children and doing normal things! Is that too much to ask? It's either you or my grandfather or Quoth or the Death of Rats or Albert or SOMEONE, but NO ONE will EVER" she was shifting into the **Voice **again, _LEAVE ME ALONE!_

"Greeting an acquaintance isn't normal?" Teatime asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"No, it's just that – you nearly and you – er um uh if he – YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!"

"So?"

"URGH!" the governess plopped back down on the park bench, crossed her arms, and did the Susan equivalent to pouting (awfully close to steaming, but a little more abject than that. It really was an eery sight).

Teatime sat beside her curiously, watching her glare straight ahead with much interest. He rested his chin on his fist, trying to decipher her emotional state past 'bloody furious'.

"_Are _they yours?" he asked.

"You just can't take a hint, can you?" Susan snapped, turning to glare at him. "Or a full blown statement, either."

He shrugged.

"Today's a holiday. You're interesting and I'm terribly bored."

"On a holiday.?"

Teatime realized Susan rather liked those question/statement sentences.

"There's nothing to _do,_" he explained. "No one wants anyone inhumed on a _holiday_." He looked a little thoughtful, that short attention span of his snapping to another thought. "Wouldn't that be _fun, _Susan? Trying to kill someone during a holiday? Or what about an actual anthropomorphic personification?"

Susan ignored his last questions, trying to stay on topic.

"Why don't you spend the day with your family or something?"

Teatime met her eyes meaningfully.

"Why don't _you?_" he asked.

"You have me there," she admitted with a sigh.

He nodded.

"We're… _different_, you and I. We just don't fit in with the crowd, so why try?" He grinned brilliantly.

"I'll give it my best shot," Susan grumbled.

Teatime shrugged.

"It won't work," he pointed out matter-of-factly.

"I refuse to accept that," she sighed, opening her book for emphasis.

_Darel had never liked roses… _she started.

"That's one way of going about it, I suppose."

_Darel had never liked roses…_

Susan slammed the novel shut in disgust.

"How do _you _'go about it'?" she asked grouchily, glancing up at him.

"I don't, really," he replied, a crooked grin spreading across his childish face. "I spend most of my time inhuming targets."

Susan raised a brow.

" 'Targets' are people, too," she mentioned dryly. She didn't quite realize that 'people' and 'insects' stirred pretty much the same emotional responses in the Assassin.

Teatime cocked his head dismissively, still grinning.

"It's all the same, really."

"Well," she commented, glancing at the children to make sure they weren't killing each other (they weren't, be it just barely), "I can see how you can get bored on holidays."

"Why don't we play some more, Susan?" Teatime asked hopefully; at the moment he somehow reminded her of a puppy scratching on door and begging for a treat. "It was so much _fun, _last time."

"No, thank you," Susan snorted. "I don't want to be almost drowned again."

He frowned slightly.

"You have to admit that it at the very least… _entertaining_."

The governess skimmed through the book idly, trying to see exactly how many pages there were in the story.

"I wasn't _bored_; how's that?"

Teatime shrugged.

"I suppose it'll do." He glanced around idly. "It certainly is a very bright day."

"Mmmh."

"I like it better when it's dark. I can react to things more quickly."

"What?" Susan asked, her head snapping up to the Assassin to make sure she'd heard him correctly.

"Sight doesn't distract me at night," he explained simply. "I like to take everything in when it's bright, but when I can't see much I focus only on what I must do, and my other senses get a little stronger."

"Let's _blindfold_ you and see what happens," the governess said with a dry laugh.

"I don't think I have any fabric on me," Teatime mentioned thoughtfully, feeling in his pockets. "Do you?"

"I wasn't _serious _– " she started.

"You could try to skewer me with your poker and I – " he was getting a little excited.

"Teatime," she said seriously, attempting to cap his growing… Teatime-ness. "I really – "

"But it'd be so much _fun, _Susan!"

Her mind back tracked a few seconds.

"Wait, are you talking about putting on a blindfold while I have a poker?"

He nodded.

"Twyla, Gawain!" she called, clapping to get their attention. "You're parents were going to take you to the museum themselves for a bit, weren't they?"

Teatime grinned. Susan just didn't know what she was getting into. Then again, neither did he.

"You wait here, Teatime," she said, smiling as she swung on her coat. "I'll go get a poker. And a blindfold."

He leaned back into the bench and dipped his head, smirking. Susan smirked back, dipping her head in reply. They were both feeling very sure of themselves.

"Do we _havth _to go, Misth Sthusan?" Twyla whined slightly.

"Bit too strong on the lisp, Twyla," Death's granddaughter replied. "No one's going to buy it, least of all me."

"Do we have to go, though?" Gawain asked.

"Yes, we do," she replied as they walked down the block towards their home.

"But we were having so much fun_ playing, _Miss Susan!"

"Yes, well," she answered, swinging the door opening and grabbing the regular poker, the spare (you could never be too careful when Teatime was involved), and a strip of cloth, "it's my turn now."

"What are you going to play, Miss Susan?" Twyla wondered curiously. There was a short paused.

"Piñata," the governess replied dryly as she marched back towards the park.

"Is there going to be candy?!" both children called from the doorframe hopefully.

"Depends on how you look at it," she answered, quickening her pace slightly. Seeing the cherub from hell all bruised up would be sweeter than chocolate, that's for sure.

At last she reached the park, none too far at all from her new home. But Teatime was nowhere to be seen. She probably should have expected that.

"I know you're there, _Tea_time, so just come out of hiding, won't you?" she called out grumpily, tightening her grip on the poker in each hand.

"Teh-ah-tim-eh," he whispered softly in her ear. Susan flinched in shock even though she tried very hard not to. At least it hid the shiver. "Did I… _frighten_ you?"

She could just _hear_ the smirk in his voice.

"No."

"I think I did."

"Think what you like."

"I will."

"Can I just blindfold you now?"

She was practically itching to beat the heck out of him about now.

His smirk grew into a full blown grin. He still hadn't moved.

"Alright," his soft, high voice said amiably. She felt his hand curl around her left, attempting to slip the poker from her fist. Her grip tightened. "Just one poker, Susan," he explained. "I have a feeling that you with two would be as unstoppable as the gods."

"Afraid?" she taunted in a deadpan-dry voice.

"I'm only duly worried," nope; she didn't get a rise out of him. "But let's get on with it, shall we?"

She stepped forwards to the bench, set down the pokers and turned around to a still eerily grinning Teatime. Susan took the black sash from the inside pocket of her long coat and gestured with her head.

"Turn around, will you?"

He obliged, Susan stepped up behind him, and tied the sash over his eyes. His perfect blond curls bunched up where the knot tightened, and he didn't make a sound as she (accidentally, of _course_) tied a few strands along with the ends of the blindfold. She inched back slowly, keeping her eyes on the stone-still Assassin. She reached back, wrapped her fingers around one poker, and ever so slowly edged around him.

"Whenever you're ready, Susan. I do have all day."

He didn't sound particularly sarcastic as he said it, so she wasn't quite sure if or if not it was meant to be. It was hard to tell.

At last, she pulled the poker back like and baseball bat and sent it swooshing towards the back of his head. In a snap, Teatime stepped back, whirled around, and caught the flat of it with his palm. The deafening _smack _of poker meeting flesh made Susan flinch, partly because she was totally caught off guard, and partly because it sounded like it'd really _hurt. _But Teatime just grinned.

"It won't be particularly easy, Susan," he said as she wrenched her weapon back. He had released it willingly, she could tell. "Try again."

So Susan sent it sailing towards the front of his head, but at the last second pulled it back closer to her shoulder. He reached towards where it had been, his brows raising as he touched air and she attempted to stab him with the poker's point. It touched his shoulder, but he was able to step aside as it brushed the cloth. He grasped the poker again, and Susan twisted it down and out of his grip. He looked mildly surprised, a little impressed, and like he was very much enjoying himself.

Susan bit her lip, stepping around him and sending it crashing directly downwards. He bent backwards and flipped out of the way in a blur towards the bench. The next thing she knew the other poker clashed into hers and a devilishly crooked grin was wide spread across his face. She slid hers up against his and twisted herself free, again going for the back of his head. He brought his poker up to block (alright; so two pokers had been a bad idea), but she lowered hers half a second later and hit his side. His face skewed up slightly, and she imagined that he must be clenching his eyes shut. Susan hacked at the Assassin again, but he dropped his poker, grabbed hers, and attempted to wrench it from her fingers. She held on like Death itself (in the blood, I tell you. Er, wait, wasn't her mother _adopted…?_ Does Death even _have _blood…? Oh, who knows how it works, but it does. Er, now that I think about it, does it even _work…?_) and he only succeeded in catching her off guard and dragging her forwards. The Assassin frowned, grabbed her upper arm, and twisted the poker with his other hand until her wrist cracked. She screeched out, her voice echoing in the eerily empty playground.

Teatime took the poker from her injured hand, stabbed it into the soft earth, and pulled off his black blindfold.

"Wasn't that _fun, _Susan?" he asked, grinning.

Susan cradled her arm.

GO AWAY.

"We should do this again next holiday," he replied, still grinning crookedly.

Susan turned to him with a face of Death.

GO AWAY. _NOW._

Even the socially inept (yet still freakishly polite) Assassin had a hunch that he should probably make a strategically quick getaway. _Right now._

Still, Round Three definitely went Teatime, like it or not.


	4. Check

**Author's Notes: Well, I guess my story actually has a discernible pattern. We talk about how Susan is feeling and what she's doing, then Teatime shows up and all hell breaks loose. **

**Enjoy! **

Round Four:

Susan

***

She'd been busy. Very busy, in fact. Who knew two children with innocent sounding names would be such handfuls. There never was a day that she didn't both bless the fact that she was not and probably never would be a mother, and curse it approximately ten minutes later when Twyla and Gawain brought her one sweet card or another. Children were so fickle and faithful, so routine and unpredictable, so irrational and sensible, that she simply couldn't make up her mind. But one thing was certain: they required a _lot _of energy. A _lot_. Thankfully, Susan was used to such wild adventures and crazy things thanks to her heritage, and children were just one step down from that. She had it covered.

Today was Susan's first day off in two months, and she was going to use it to her full advantage. She'd go to the park, read, then maybe stop by Byers – oh, and _definitely _buy some chocolate. She was fantasizing about the melt-in-your-mouth caramel-filled delights just as she was about to walk out the door, when she noticed something. Susan stopped dead in her tracks. _Something wasn't right_.

_Hmmm… _she thought as she glanced around. No squeaking sounds like the Death of Rats. No pecking sounds or random calls of 'these aren't eyeballs!' like Quoth. No scythe-in-hand Grandfather. There wasn't that chilling sensation of a bogie man, either. That left only one option.

_Teatime, _she thought darkly.

But just what had he done _now?_ Knowing him, it wouldn't do to let him get away with it. So first, Susan checked all the obvious hiding spaces for bodies, but then remembered he was an _Assassin_. Inhuming people was only an occupation, wasn't it?

For him it really wasn't. But she didn't know that.

Susan chewed on her lip furiously, severely bruising it as she attempted to find something somewhere that was wrong, because there most definitely was.

And then she saw it.

_The chessboard knight had been moved_.

Susan's brow wrinkled. That wasn't a very popular first move. She walked over to the board and examined it; all the pieces were set, but the white knight had moved forwards _illegally_. Susan shook her head, moved it one square back, took a black pawn and moved it forwards two squares, then went off to buy some chocolate.

When she came back, the knight had been placed back in its previous position, and another piece had been moved – wrongly, again.

"Teatime, if you're going to _cheat_, cheat at the end of the game when it isn't so blatantly obvious," she called out to the empty room. Susan sat at the chessboard, moved the pieces back to their _legal _spaces, and took her second move. When she turned back to her chocolates, someone had taken a piece. The governess picked up the box, glared around her, and held it possessively before taking a few pieces herself. When she glanced back at the board, the white queen had been moved. She furrowed her brow. "So early in the game…? An odd strategy," Susan mused.

"I've always been rather unconventional," he replied behind her.

Susan pursed her lips, closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She hadn't even jumped, and was feeling very pleased with herself for that.

"What are you doing here, Teatime?"

"Today's my day off too, and since we had so much fun last time, and you have no one to be with today either, I thought we could spend it together again. Seeing as I sprained your wrist, I assumed you'd rather do something that didn't involve physical exertion as when I tried to drown you, you didn't want to do anything that might lead to that again. I assumed something that exerted the mind would be more appropriate."

Susan turned towards him in her seat with her brow furrowed.

"You're mind baffling, Teatime. You really are," she said, rubbing her wrist in remembrance. It was much better now, but she remembered the sound of it _cracking _in perfect clarity. She remembered the _feel _of it _cracking _in perfect clarity as well – and it hadn't felt pleasant.

"As long as you can't compare me to anyone you know, and you never quite know what I'm going to do next, I'm happy," he replied with his crooked grin as he sat across from her started to frown at the chessboard. It was odd how drastically his face could change in a few seconds.

"Well, Gawain had popped into my head, but for the most part you're very unique," she agreed, dipping her head.

Part of her wanted to send him packing and scream at him. Part of her wanted to skewer him with a poker. But whatever she thought of him, whatever she felt about him, she realized that there was something else inside her that she kept very hidden – even from herself.

Today was a day everyone spent with their families and friends, a day they played about and laughed. Since seeing Death was out of the 'normal' picture, she really had nowhere to go but Byers. And what would she do there? The Susan equivalent of moping (similar to her equivalent of pouting, but a lot more glaring and hostility with a slight twinge of boredom and a hell of a lot of drinks), and she would be… _lonely._

As much as she disliked (and secretly feared) Teatime, he was right about three things:

**A**, she did find him terribly intriguing.

**B**, neither of them had anything better to do.

**C**, as much as she hated getting her wrist sprained, last holiday _had _been somewhat entertaining. She'd never admit that to _him_, though.

And though he hadn't guessed at this as far as she knew, she was lonely, and his company was better than none. As for the Assassin, he was just bored and wanted something to do. Susan never seemed to come up short in that respect, so why not stop by her place?

"A pawn can only move twice the first time, Teatime," the governess pointed out dryly. His brow furrowed.

"I'm not _trying _to do it wrong," he said in frustration. "I just don't _get _it. Why can't we move the pieces however we like?"

"You of all people should know that," Susan replied. "There wouldn't be a challenge; if we could move them however, then I'd checkmate you next move."

"Why don't we _try_ it that way and see what happens?" he asked curiously.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Want me to find the poker?"

"That might be fun!" Teatime was starting to sound excited.

_I should have known better,_ she thought dryly.

"No."

Susan moved.

"I've never been very good at chess…" the Assassin mused quietly before taking her bishop with his queen.

"Why didn't you take it with your pawn?" Susan asked, a little confused.

"The queen's more powerful."

"Yes, but now I can take her with my bishop."

"Mmhmm. But I have your bishop."

"No, my _other _one, Teatime."

"I know. But I took the one I took with my queen."

"But now you've lost your queen and you still have a pawn."

"But if I get all of my pawns to the end I can make them all queens. Pawns have more… _potential_."

"And how do you intend to _get_ them to the end of the board?"

"I can't exactly plan ahead, can I? Everything keeps morphing; you keep moving your pieces."

"You don't even have a _plan?_" she called in confusion.

"How can you plan how to cross a messy room if all those item that might trip you up are shifting? You have to come up with each move one step at a time."

Susan was getting a serious headache. His thought processes just didn't work _right_.

"But you plan by what you know of your opponent; how you think they will operate."

"Yes, but personality really doesn't have much of an effect on one's gaming habits. Maybe if I'd played you several times before I could think ahead, but now I'm just testing the waters," he explained.

"You're impossible!" she called in exasperation.

"But unstoppable!" he replied eagerly, leaning forwards with a twitchy grin.

She glanced at the board.

"No, apparently you're not that," Susan said, her voice laced with tinges of self satisfaction. "_Checkmate_."

Teatime glanced down at the board in surprise. The look on his face was just priceless.

"Why did you use your pawn to checkmate my king?" he asked, eerie eyes boring intently into the poor pieces.

"What?" the governess blinked.

"It isn't powerful."

"_What?_"

Well, Round Four went to Susan. Even if Teatime _did _confuse the heck out of her while she did it.

**A/N: Please review!**


	5. Tipsy Turvy

**Author's Notes: I went temporarily insane mid-chapter, so please excuse any and all insanity. There's definitely a lot of it.**

**AND REVIEW!  
**

Round Five

Teatime

***

It was dark, and it was late, and it was cold. If there had been any trees in the crowded, urban city of Ankh-Morpork, they would have been all the lovely colors of red, orange, and yellow of fall. There weren't, but since Teatime had lived his whole life in this city he didn't mind or even notice. He enjoyed the crisp air, the pitch black sky, the gentle hum of voices, and the slinking figures against the darkness.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, not bothering to look at the pickpocket reaching into his coat.

"Wh – " the man caught red handed started.

"I don't much like thieves," the Assassin said thoughtfully. "Are you a thief?"

"Well – "

"You're certainly acting like one."

"Um – "

"I don't have anything worth stealing, anyway," he added. "Not that you would consider worth stealing anyhow." He shook his head. "You thieves are so shallow. All you care about is _gold_. Then again, most Assassins feel the same way. But at least they have the _grace_ and _genius _said occupation requires."

"You're an Assassin?" he squeaked.

"And I'd be _glad _to _trade _you my knife."

"I think I'm alright," the thief said, starting to back away slowly.

"No, all I need in return is your life."

"I'm quite happy without it! The knife, I mean, not – "

Teatime finally turned to him, half his mouth giving a twitchy grin. The Light of the Moon rather liked the crazed Assassin, and often lit him in just the right way to be terribly creepy. Now was no exception, as he raised his blade up in the pale night glow.

"It _is _a _sharp _knife. Very useful, too."

"Uh – " The thief could see a shadow behind the Assassin – a black shadow with a scythe. He was beginning to get very uneasy.

DON'T WORRY, Death said encouragingly. HE KILLS VERY QUICKLY. WHEN HE DOESN'T DECAPITATE YOU. OR STRANGLE YOU. OR NAIL YOU TO THE CEILING. BUT I DON'T SEE MANY CEILINGS HERE, SO I WOULDN'T BE TOO WORRIED.

The thief gulped.

A slip of white in a sea of black slipped through the crowd in the shadows far beyond the thief and caught Teatime's eye. He cocked his head and replaced his knife, forgetting the thief as Death flashed away. The thief ran into the shadows before the Assassin could change his mind – but why, in all the worlds, would Teatime pay any attention to the mere _pawn _when the _queen_ was in such close proximity?

He followed Susan quickly, using all his great skill to swiftly glide across the ground and slice through the crowd effortlessly. He hadn't seen her in a good two weeks, when she'd beaten him most terribly. Apparently chess wasn't in his forte.

Teatime wasn't exactly certain _where _she was going. He hadn't been in this part of town often. He followed her like a shadow – the distance between them changing, yet he was always most definitely there. She didn't seem to notice.

At last she paused, pulling open the door to a rather shabby looking bar. Teatime caught it before it closed, poking his head inside curiously. He raised his brows as he slipped in; he'd never seen so many werewolves, zombies, vampires, and not-quite-humans in one place in his life. Susan fit in this crowd perfectly. He cocked his head, glancing around as he inspected the place. Perhaps he fit in as well.

_Byers,_ he noted. _I should remember this place._

Susan sat at the bar and ordered a drink in her **Voice**. He could tell by her posture that she was thoroughly irked about something, and his suspicions were confirmed when the bartender asked her to avoid using that tone (the **Voice**), she had given him what the Assassin had secretly dubbed the Glare of Death. What was wrong with her, exactly, he wasn't sure. But he intended to find out – as dangerous as that would be. He just wasn't quite capable of fear – even when he really, _really_ should feel it.

"Hi, Susan!" he chirped cheerfully, sitting beside her. She grunted in reply. "You look thoroughly cheerful." He was attempting to be sarcastic, but that was one thing he was never quite good at. How you could say one thing and mean the exact opposite truly eluded him. He could never quite master it, no matter how hard he tried, and that slightly agitated him. But no matter.

Susan glanced at him with a brow raised.

"Do I, now?"

"No, not really," Teatime explained. "I was trying to be sarcastic."

"You're not very good at it," Death's granddaughter observed dryly.

"I was just thinking about that. But if I don't practice I never will be,"

Susan glanced around.

"What are you doing here? You don't strike me as the drinking type."

He wrinkled his nose.

"I don't. People get all… _undignified _when they drink. I just followed you here."

"Why?"

The Assassin shrugged.

"Why not? But really, Susan. You look like such a sad girl right now."

"I'm not a girl," she growled before she downed the last sip of whatever she was drinking and ordered another. "I'm a _freak._"

Teatime was a little confused.

"Susan, I am very familiar with the term 'freak' – "

"How so?" she interrupted.

"Well, for starts, apparently _I'm _one," he said cheerfully, a bright grin spreading across his face. How many times that word had been applied to him in his early years – well, even _he _had lost count. "So being a 'freak' can't be all bad, can it?"

Susan wasn't quite sure about that.

"Why exactly do you say – " she'd meant to finish with 'that', but he interrupted her before she could.

"Besides, whatever else you are, you're my favorite person. I might even like you more than I like my knife."

She choked on her drink.

"_What – ?_" Susan sputtered. Person/knife comparisons were just _wrong_.

"Might," he added. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, freak or not, you're the only person I've ever changed my mind about killing. That's _got _to mean _something_."

Well, Susan could agree to that. Her mind backtracked a few seconds.

"Wait; are you trying _cheer me up?_"

He shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm new to this 'friend' thing. I don't have many, but I'd like to think of you as one."

She laughed.

"You'd kill me without a second thought – "

"I'd think at _least _three times about killing _you, _Susan," he said seriously.

" – and I'd betray you in snap."

"But we can talk about anything!"

She snorted.

"So we _aren't _friends?" he sounded a little dejected and very abject.

"I don't really know _what_ we are. Something between mortal enemies and friends, I guess," Susan sighed. Her cheeks were a little red. She ordered another glass.

"Frien-emies?" Teatime tried, his brow furrowed.

Susan giggled before nodding emphatically.

"Yes, frien-emies!"

"It sounds a little confusing to me. How about I call you a friend and you call me an enemy and we leave it at that?"

"That works!"

"Susan, are you alright? You seem a little…" He started counting how many drinks she'd had. That explained it. "But why did you come here?"

"Long story short… or short story long… something happened somewhen that reminded me I'm somehow a little something else with somesome."

Teatime blinked, then sighed.

"And that's why I don't drink."

"Good boy," Susan said.

"_What?_" he said, his head snapping towards her. He'd never been so thoroughly and completely and absolutely befuddled in his life. Susan giggled, stood, and called out –

YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF LOSERS FOR DRINKING!

– in her **Voice **before she collapsed on the creaky wooden floor. This resulted in several screams, a few brief seconds of absolute silence, and then a resuming of chatter like nothing had happened.

"No **Voice **in my bar!" the Bartender yelled angrily.

Teatime snapped over to him and glared.

"I'll have you know that Susan has had a very hard day," he said coldly, looking _very _intimidating.

"Do you think she could keep it down, maybe?" the Bartender asked, arms crossed. He dealt with rather frightening people every day and wasn't particularly unnerved.

They glanced at Susan's lithe, unconscious form, then back at one another.

"I think she'll be very quiet."

"Ah. Just tell her that she's not allowed to use her **Voice **here."

"I'll do that."

Teatime turned on his heel, picked her up off the ground, and hummed quietly as he made his way back to the Gaiters' house. Susan's room was on the second floor. He grinned; _this _would be challenging.

About forty minutes later, Susan blinked into awareness. She was on her bed, had a throbbing head, and Teatime was flipping curiously through one of her books. Memories of her last few minutes of awareness slid through her head and she groaned.

"How did I get here?"

"I brought you," he explained, still frowning at the novel.

She sat up stick straight, her brow furrowing.

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, no, I'm just looking," he explained, closing it and setting it aside before offering her a crooked grin. Susan blinked.

"Did I dream all – oh no," she groaned again, slamming her head with a hand. "Byers will probably _never _let me back."

"Oh, no, I'm sure he will," Teatime grinned again. It was terribly eerie. "He just doesn't want you to use your **Voice** there anymore."

Susan narrowed her eyes.

"He _does _still have all his fingers and toes, doesn't he…?"

"I just don't think he was _that _mad."

She raised a brow, but didn't comment further.

"What time is it?"

"Sometime after noon."

"Last I checked it was _midnight_."

"Yes, that's after noon."

She blinked.

Teatime grinned. _Again_.

"You're doing that a lot," Susan observed.

"Would you like me to stop?"

"Would you if I would?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

He gri –

Even _I'm _getting tired of writing that. You poor reader.

Teatime stood, glanced around, then looked back at Susan.

"I should probably go."

She nodded, and stood as Teatime turned to the window. He started to slide through the frame.

Susan took a deep breath.

"Thank you."

He glanced back, looking slightly surprised.

"Thank you, for taking me home. And for trying to cheer me up."

He just grinned eerily, and slid away in a blur.

Susan's brow furrowed, and she sat down slowly. Her head was pounding, and she was very tired. There really hadn't been a battle this time. But it still felt like he'd won. How odd.


	6. Why Use a Door When There Are Windows?

**Author's Notes: My crazy, demented mind has given some thought to the whole Susan/Teatime thing, and I noticed, that in each book Susan shows up in she had someone who she liked in *that* way, or at least might. The first time it was Imp, and the last it was Lobsang. But in the second she didn't have anyone. **

**Now, this might all have been random, but what if originally there had been a bit more that Mr. Pratchett cut out? I know that I do stuff like that when all of a sudden I get uncomfortable with my work. In fact, _this _whole story was almost cut when I woke up and read it the next morning. Even this whole Author's Note was almost cut.**

**Or maybe he didn't cut anything, and just wrote a few echoes and showcases to give us the feel that these two, though they might very well never work, would just be darn good together. Like do you remember the page where they talk about Teatime and how he feels about money (just before the famous fractured mirror reference)? That other page where Mr. Pratchett talks about how Susan doesn't care about the wages she gets from the Gaiters kind of mirrors it, doesn't it? And if you're a Teatime/Susan shipper, you can't argue about the chemistry (minus murder attempts - yes, us T/S shippers are as twisted as Teatime!) going on between them in the Toothfairy's Castle Confrontation scene (we both know you know what I'm talking about).**

**Okay. I'm done boring you with my rant... my deluded mind is just so set on these two for unknown ('course it's known! They're both UBER COOL!), deluded reasons that I'm trying to find ways that it could possibly be canon. Oh well. Oh, I apologize for the wildness of last chapter if I haven't already. I really do claim temporary insanity.  
**

**But here we are! No rounds for the next few chapters - this is just plain, simple, bonding (thus it's a 'break'). Boring, I know, but I'm hoping it'll pick up soon. Just to let you know, we're getting closer to the end......  
**

Break

Part One

***

At least she wasn't lonely. Or so terribly, at any rate. Susan had begun to take a liking to one Lord Arbitiore, who moonlighted as a shoemaker. He was the fifth best shoemaker in Ankh-Morpork, and she often found herself and her children (er, her charges. The children she was watching. They were NOT HERS (she had to keep reminding herself of that).) measuring their feet, and getting new shoes. It was amazing the rate young boys and girls went through footwear. Their feet just kept _growing, _and if it wasn't that, the soles were always peeling off.

But at any rate, she was friendly with the Lord/(secretly)shoemaker, the children were little Lokis in their own right (very _sweet _little Lokis, mind you), and Teatime was _everywhere_. Poking through windows, passing by at the park… Sometimes he'd only talk for a few seconds, to point out some new random world-view he held or muse on why this person did that. She'd attempt to explain how wrong he was, or WHY said person did this or that, and harrumphed and glared as he popped about, but secretly she enjoyed the company. She didn't have many friends (and even less frien-emies). They had also taken to spending their few days off together, and I'm not sure if very many people had such… shall we say 'dangerous' days off. But to each his (or her) own.

"Hi, Susan!"

_Speak of the devil…_ Susan thought (even if he had the face of a cherub).

Susan glanced up from her dish-washing, and out the little window over the sink. The kitchen was a long, narrow hall on the first story, and Teatime was leaning through the middle window with that trademark grin of his. He looked as creepy, crazy, charming, and childish as ever. Susan began debating whether to smile, glare, or make some snide remark. She settled with raising an eyebrow.

"Hello, Teatime." It didn't look like he was going to say anything. "How are you?" she prompted.

"Well enough, I suppose." He brightened, "I have an inhumation later tonight. It sounds very challenging."

Susan flinched. She tried to keep the fact that he was an Assassin in the back of her mind, but that was very hard to do when he mentioned something about it every third sentence. Still, everyone needed a job (besides nobility of course – but sometimes, as Susan and the shoemaker demonstrated, if only for normality's sake, even _they _did), and if he wasn't doing it, another Assassin _would_, so at least it was guaranteed to be done in a way people wouldn't forget (she didn't know how true that was). And really, there _were _worse things than Assassins. There were common cutthroats, or thugs, or (she shivered) _heroes_. Besides, Assassins had very strict rules of conduct. They were tidy, polite, swift, and didn't kill anyone they didn't have to along the way.

"Oh?" she tried stiffly as she continued scrubbing off a few dishes. He didn't seem to notice the slight twinge of awkwardness in her voice; he was too excited.

"He used to be an Assassin himself, so he knows all of our customary tactics." Teatime practically beamed, "That's why they assigned me to it. I don't often operate by our customary tactics."

Teatime was probably the only Assassin in the history of said occupation's Guild to blatantly ignore their normal tactics and strict rules, and yet be so unsurpassably good that they just _couldn't _turn him out. Luckily for him, Susan didn't know that yet, or he probably would have had a poker through him long before Hogswatch.

"Who is he?"

Teatime frowned (but not at her), glancing downwards in agitation.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. But you'll doubtless hear about it somehow." He paused, "Susan?"

"Hmmhmm?" she replied absently, slowly starting to dry the dishes before her.

"I have another holiday for All's Fallow."

"The one night witches and warlocks stay in bed?" Susan asked curiously, glancing up at him.

"Yes. I was wondering if you wanted to play chess or something of the like."

Susan snorted.

"You even _want_ to play chess ever again in your _life?_"

They'd tried it a couple other times. Both had been disasters on his end, if not terribly amusing on hers. Teatime glared darkly at nothingness. Today was not a good day to be nothingness, Nothingness was very sure of.

"If I don't keep trying," he said, his voice firm, grim, a little angry, and very determined, "I'll never get better."

"True enough, I suppose. Tell you what;" the governess said, turning her full attention to the Assassin. "I've got a book on hold at the library. You bring it over for me and we can do something interesting in the day. I've got to be somewhere at seven-thirty, though."

"Where?" he asked, his face contorting with curiosity.

Susan's contorted in disgust.

"Remember that Lord you poisoned?"

Teatime nodded. He'd only ever poisoned one person. How many had he _killed?_ You might as well ask a crab how many grains of sand are there in the beach.

"He usually throws three or four balls a year. It's customary for all nobles to attend. If I didn't, I might as well grab a glove and slap his face."

"You mean that if you don't go you'll have to duel him?"

The Assassin sounded a little confused.

"No, probably not because I'm a girl. But I'd be greatly insulting him."

"But you're just as good as any boy when it comes to fencing," there was no 'little' about his confusion anymore.

"Don't you know?" Susan sounded a little surprised. "Boys are afraid of girls. Why else would they make up so many regulations around us and try to make us all docile housewives?"

Teatime cocked his head.

"I never thought of it that way…" he wondered in awe.

"You don't even realize you're doing it, but you are," Susan assured.

Teatime shrugged.

"But why do you have to go if the Lord's dead?"

The Assassin waited for the short burst of pride he always felt looking back on a successful inhumation, and when it didn't come felt disappointed. Yes, he was certain – he would never, _ever _kill by poison again (at least while he still had his handy-little-knife around. Or a poker. Or a length rope. Or his hands. Or a needle. Or really anything at all that could be used as a weapon).

"That's what I thought the one bloody good thing was that came out of that whole night – _it would never happen again,_"Susan said with a nod, "but listen to _this._" She glanced around. "Wait here."

Susan went up stairs to find the little invitation, and when she came back Teatime had come through the window and was making himself at home with a cup of cocoa he'd somehow made in the full minute she'd been gone. There was even another mug for her.

The Assassin had a thing for cocoa, she'd noticed. It didn't really matter _what _season it was, but he could make it perfectly and did so often.

"_My Dear Friends,_" Susan started aloud. "See, even already I can't like the letter. It isn't like she actually _knows _any of us well," she pointed out, distress edging her words. Teatime dipped his head and the governess continued. "_…I'd like to thank you all for your continued presence at our regular dances over the years. It meant the world to both myself and my husband. _ As if we had a _choice_. _Now that he has passed, bless him, into the next realm, to honor his name I would like to keep up his grand tradition._ It's not like he can actually _care _whether or not we do it, is it?" her voice was growing more desperate.

"I suppose not," Teatime shrugged.

"Just listen," she sounded in pain about now, "it gets _worse._ _We will have our yearly All's Fallow ball at seven thirty, my manor, that night. Please bring a __**partner**__ of equal status and __**dress in a costume**__._" The **bold **letters were Susan's inflections, not the author of the letter's. "See?" she cried. "_See?!_"

"It doesn't sound _so _terrible, Susan."

"Oh, that's how they get you," she said with a dark nod. "It all _sounds _well enough. But then you get there. And no one has anything to say. So people try to find _something _to do with their tongues and go on and on about how you should get married and have children and the weather and indirectly how I'm different and everyone is bored out of their minds and just talking and talking and they _know _that they're saying _nothing_ but they don't know what else to do," she took in a deep breath. "And I haven't even _gotten _to the dancing. Don't get me started on the dancing!"

"What about the dancing?" Teatime was leaning his elbow on the counter, chin on his fist, watching Susan with utmost interest as he sipped his cocoa. He _very_ much wanted to hear about the dancing.

"Everyone's trying to be graceful but we're _all_ klutzes and all the bright colors just make me dizzy and we're spinning and spinning and I'm so terrible and people actually _expect _me to do it with them and I get all flushed and embarrassed and the music it too loud and too wild and – " she cut herself off from her wailing, took a deep breath, a long swig of hot chocolate (almost wishing it was something stronger, but when she remembered how that turned out the _last _time she knew better), and turned back to the dishes. She was surprised how good it felt to have someone to rant to; she'd done it a couple other times with him before, but it still felt oddly novel and new to her. The governess thought that she rather liked it.

When she spoke again it was in her normal, deadpan-dry tone. "I just don't like dances."

Teatime had the most terrible urge to laugh, but refrained for two main reasons. A, he knew his laughter sounded rather… _unnerving_, which was alright when he was off inhuming people, but right now he thought Susan wouldn't want to be unnerved. B, he suspected if he _did _laugh at this particular second for this particular reason there'd be a poker going through his gut in no time. He really _would _rather stay alive for a few more decades (or – even better – eternity, but he was working on that. He _was _already a frien-emy with Death's granddaughter (not that that was on purpose, but it shouldn't _hurt _him in his goal_, _should it?)). Susan could be almost cute at times, and this was one of them. He knew better than to say so, though.

He nodded thoughtfully instead.

"Maybe I could go with you?" he grinned, hoping she couldn't tell that said facial expression was spurred from her earlier speech just as much as from his comment. "I can guarantee you won't be bored."

She actually gave him the smallest of smiles. It made Teatime feel very proud; knowing that _he'd _made _Susan _smile. Not just _anyone _could do that, and she looked so pretty when she did.

"I _wish_. I could just imagine you with an eyepatch and pirate hat. Not to mention how you'd – no offense – probably knock all those stuck-up nobles off their rocker," the governess shook her head and sighed sadly. "No, the letter said someone of an _equal station_. I'll probably just go alone; worst comes to worst I get a talking to about 'finding myself a gentleman to sweep me off my feet'."

Teatime had a hard time imagining anyone sweeping Susan off her feet. He said so.

"_Good_," she replied dryly, taking another sip of cocoa.

"What are you going to go as?"

She cocked her head thoughtfully, warming her hands on the thick mug as she stared strongly at nothing. Her lips pursed thoughtfully. At last, she shook her head.

"I hate costume balls!" she settled with.

"I've never heard of a costume like that."

Teatime, being Teatime, very much enjoyed the poisonous glare Susan sent his way that would have caused a blind man to keel over and die. His cheeky grin just made her more agitated, and she scrubbed the already spotless dishes with a newfound malice. Her hair started tying itself into tight knots.

"I think the plate is clean."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Just be quiet, won't you?" she grumbled.

"No."

Susan made a face, shook the water off her hands and glared at him.

"You're agitating." Hmm, that adjective wasn't strong enough. "Aggravating," she tried, her eyes searching wildly. "_Infuriating_," she finally settled with. Yes, that would do nicely. Teatime just gave her a charmingly terrifying grin. Some sounds started echoing from upstairs. "That must be the children," Susan said after their heads finished snapping upwards in surprise.

"Thank you for the most… _pleasant _conversation, Susan. I'll see you All's Fallows. And maybe before then, too."

He slipped out the window into the early morning air before she could blink. He certainly had a thing for doing that. Susan was beginning to think that he was predigested against doors, as he simply refused to use them. Even _he _shouldknow by now that she'd let him in (be it with a few glares and harrumphs to throw him off). The governess couldn't think of a single time that he'd actually turned a knob and stepped through a door – and god forbid he should ever actually _knock_. It would just go against the laws of physics he went against for that to happen.

"Don't forget the book!" she called out the window after him. Susan wasn't quite sure he'd heard. Oh well. If he did forget, she'd just beat him up with the poker.

Wow – they actually made it a _night_ without having a winner/loser among them. Any bets on how long _that _will last?

**A/N: Don't review. Just kidding - please do (and I KNOW some people are reading and not reviewing, and I know I can't bribe you with chapters since I'm spitting them out so fast, but if you DO review it will make me very, very happy)!!!**


	7. Saving Susan

**Author's Notes: Okay, I guess I have a thing for dances since they seem to sneak their way into almost every single one of my fics. I've already written what happens next, but it's under serious editing so it might take a bit to get up there. You know the drill; read it, enjoy it if you can, and review it to make me smile and hurry up with editing ;-)**

Break

Part Two

***

"Did you bring the book?" Susan asked, not bothering to look up from the one she was currently reading. She knew the lack-of-sound of Teatime entering through her window very well.

"They didn't have it."

She slammed hers shut and looked up at him, her brow furrowing in disappointment and confusion.

"I did have it on hold," she said, as if that would make a difference.

"Yes;" he agreed with a nod. "The librarian forgot."

Susan narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious.

"Are you sure _you _didn't?"

He shook his head as if he'd been accused of a most heinous crime. It's not as if he hasn't committed one, but that didn't make being accused of it any better.

"Oh, no, Susan." He held up a book. "See? I have proof. They didn't have the one you wanted so I brought another one."

"What, exactly, _is _it…?" she asked apprehensively. Who _knew _what kind of reading this particular apprentice Assassin did.

"A book on knots, and how to unknot them," he explained.

Susan blinked.

"Like an escape artist's book?"

He nodded, climbing up on her red mattress and handing her the book.

"I suppose. I thought it might be useful to learn."

Susan raised her brows, flipping through the pages.

"I suppose you expect to practice on each other?"

He blinked.

"What else would we do? You didn't seem very excited about chess."

Susan couldn't help but chuckle, thinking about him trying to figure out the pieces. It's not that he couldn't remember the rules. There was just something about them that his corkscrew, shattered mind couldn't grasp. That annoyed him to no end.

"What is it?" he asked, looking slightly confused.

She shook her head.

"You trying to play chess amuses me."

He cocked his thoughtfully, then shrugged it off.

"I suppose that's fair enough. You getting angry amuses me. And you dealing with the children. And you scaring away monsters with your poker. And you glaring." He grinned. "I _especially_ love you glaring."

She looked at him in confusion, a little too taken off guard to be angry. But that was coming soon.

"Is there anything I do that _doesn't _amuse you?" Susan asked.

Teatime pursed his lips thoughtfully, musing slowly.

"When you read you're very boring," he said at last.

Susan rolled her eyes.

"I love that, too," he added as an afterthought. "You rolling your eyes."

Susan scoffed. Teatime thought better of commenting again.

"What do you hate most in the world, Susan?" he asked randomly, if only to change the topic he was sure would become dangerous any second now. Not that he usually minded, but he wasn't particularly in the mood to defend himself.

"Besides you?" she bit back.

"Yes."

Susan chewed her lip thoughtfully.

"I suppose… I suppose I hate the fact that no matter how hard I try, I've never succeeded in being completely human. I can never get passed 'mostly'."

"I'm completely human, and I'm just as different as you," Teatime pointed out.

"More so, maybe," she added dryly. "But what about you? What do you hate most?"

He cocked his head.

"Probably being ignored. I hate not being acknowledged or…_ forgotten_." He grinned, "That and boredom."

"I can see that," the governess agreed with a nod. "It fits you."

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Teatime called. "Happy All's Fallow, Susan." He looked very pleased with himself, causing Susan to raise a brow or two.

"Happy All's Fallow to you, too."

She shook her head with a dry laugh.

"What?"

"I just realized, throughout all _this_, and even now, I don't even know your name."

"Yes, you do," he sounded a little confused. "Teatime."

"No, I mean your _first_."

"Oh," he looked rather thoughtful, as if he hadn't said it in a long time and had almost forgotten. "Jonathan," the Assassin said at last, saying it slowly. He grinned. "My name's Jonathan Teatime."

It was such a common, normal name. It was hard to attach it with the crazed Assassin (in training) before her. She'd just have to get used to it.

"A pleasure to meet you, Jonathan Teatime," she replied seriously, reaching out a hand to shake his. Well, perhaps 'pleasure' wasn't quite the best word. But no going back now, she supposed. "I'm Susan Sto-Helit."

He took hers, black and white eyes laughing in their own right (albeit eerily).

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Sto-Helit," the Assassin replied in his odd, high voice. All the sudden, some kind of flash flew through his face and his grin twitched as he came up with an idea. "Susan! You should go as a witch."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"For the silly costume ball you hate. I know you'd only want to go in black, and it isn't fancy or big. Save the hat."

She cocked her head.

"Perhaps I shall. Besides, witches are, for the most part, very practical."

"I haven't had much experience with them. Such a shame." He shook his head sadly. "Perhaps one day I'll get to inhume one."

Susan pretended she hadn't heard that.

*

After much tying/untying, bantering, cocoa drinking, attempts at chess, one long walk, and a short shopping trip all by herself, Susan found herself at a costume ball with a very tiny pointy hat nestled in her nervous hair (it just wouldn't stay still). She glanced around apprehensively, quite clearly noting that no one else had come alone. She took in a deep breath, and stepped out into the crowd.

There wasn't any dinner this time (thank the _gods_) – just dancing (now curse them), and Susan had absolutely no intentions of taking part in that activity. So she really didn't get why she had to be here, but they just wouldn't take no for an answer. The governess (or currently witch) knew that from experience.

"Hello, madam," a charming voice said beside her. Susan glared at the man, who slowly backed away.

"Good day, milady. Would you care for a dance?" another man asked thirty seconds later.

NO, she replied shortly. He gulped and left as well.

"And what is a pretty girl like you doing all alone?"

Susan rolled her eyes.

"Not dancing."

"How'd you like to?"

She turned and glared at him.

"No. I don't want to dance."

"Aw, come on now – "

BACK. AWAY. NOW.

The man nodded emphatically.

Why so many people wanted to dance when they were supposedto have come with someone she didn't know. Apparently they did a lot of switching around.

Susan turned down a total of five other men who came up and asked her to dance before finally calling out in desperation when the sixth asked –

"FINE! FINE, I'll dance with you. Are you happy? Am I someone you _want _to dance with?"

The poor Lord (oh, his bad day was only _just _beginning. Believe me) almost took it back, but like any gentleman (or at least non-phony gentleman), he stayed true to his word and offered Susan his arm.

"I would still like the pleasure of your companionship for a song or two. Or just half a one. Maybe only a few notes, if you want."

"Good," she grumbled. But at least for those few notes she wouldn't have to say 'no' once every five seconds. 'Tiring' didn't even come close to describing how doing that felt.

Slipping into the music, she took the Lord's hand and followed his lead. He was dressed as an Assassin, ironically enough, all stylish and black. He did have a tall top hat, if only to give it a bit of a personal touch.

Susan was feeling very awkward as she stumbled through the song, and her partner was feeling even more so. Neither was quite sure exactly where to look, and both found themselves becoming rather interested in the surrounding walls. Eventually they gave up and looked one another in the eye, since their necks were getting soar from looking everywhere else.

"Sorry!" Susan called genuinely as she stepped on his toe for the third time.

"Maybe we should get some punch," he suggested, truly wishing he could rub his foot without breaking protocol. "This isn't quite how I imagined it would be," he observed, glancing around nervously as he took a small glass. Susan laughed dryly.

"This is what balls are _really _like," she replied. "Awkward, dull..." she waved her hand in a nonverbal 'et cetera'.

"I'm Edwin Fuller," he said, extending a hand. "And I don't often dance. I'm sorry I made you step on my toes."

"I'm Susan Sto-Helit," she replied. "And I _don't _dance. Period. I'm sorry I stepped on your toes."

"I don't mind," he said honestly.

Susan turned back to the punch bowl, grabbed a glass and ladled in a tiny sip. You could never tell whether or not it would be any good. She was actually pleasantly surprised to taste not only a _good _type of punch, but a _very _good type of punch. The governess filled her glass the rest of the way and turned back to Edwin, surprised to see him gone. Susan sighed.

_Well, I should have expected _that, she thought. _I did step on his toes three times. Poor man._

So Susan waited for something to happen. She turned down eight more potential dance partners, deciding even this was better than what she'd just gone through. Seconds were stretching into hours and she was _so bored._

"Hi, Susan!" a high, chipper voice rang out.

Susan swerved around, surprised to see one newly revealed _Jonathan _Teatime walking up towards her, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked a little _too _cheerful, and his face was flushed slightly – the way it got when he'd just been exhilarated. Susan narrowed her eyes.

"What did you do?" she asked. "You look like you just come back from an inhumation."

"I have tonight off," he said plainly.

"So why do you look like that?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "What are you doing here?" Susan asked instead when she realized that she probably wasn't going to get a reply. "You know you're not supposed to be."

"Who was that you were dancing with?"

"Someone named Edwin," she replied.

"So you _know _him?" Was that a slight twinge of... of _something _in his voice? It was unnamable, but definitely there. Desperate, perhaps? Similar, but much milder. Much softer, and hard to pinpoint unless you'd heard his voice as often as Susan had. There was a dab of something else, too. She just couldn't name it, as his voice was so different from any other.

"No," the governess corrected. "No, I don't. We'd only talked for half a second and then he left. He seemed nice enough but I don't know him."

"Oh," Teatime grinned charmingly.

"But what are you doing here?"

"I was just passing by, saw you, and thought I'd get you out of here. Sorry I didn't dress up. The only thing I could think of horrible enough would be a thief, and stripes are so… _undignified. _Do you want to stop by Byers?"

"Teatime," she said dryly, "I'd love nothing more, but they won't let me – "

"Yes they will."

"Why?" Susan asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"I told your host that we were dating and that I'm going to propose. She said to tell you she wouldn't be offended in the slightest if you left."

The governess blinked. It was bloody brilliant. They'd been trying to get her to get married (who _knows _why) for who knows how long, and wouldn't pass up a chance to have just that happen now.

"You mean – I can _go?_"

"Unless you _want _to stay, of course – "

NO! the governess called. "I mean, yes, I very much would absolutely extremely love to leave immediately with great rapidity."

"After you, Susan," Teatime said, with an amused, crooked grin.

Susan started towards the door, taking off and throwing away the disposable mini witch's hat that had been her only costume (the black outfit was just how she _dressed_) simultaneously. She smiled as she left the building and took in a long breath of the sweet (by Ankh Morpork standards) night air. It was dark, it was late, she was _free,_ and she felt like crowing. But Susan didn't crow; she just threw her head back and sighed. The moon hit her unnaturally pale skin (accentuated by her all black attire), making it almost iridescent. Her hair tossed about her face in the nonexistent breeze, fanning out like some kind of white silk. Her long, elegant arms stretched out at her sides in the quiet moonlight. Teatime grinned as he watched her breathed in.

Susan turned her head to him.

"Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?" she asked seriously.

"What do you want?" he asked, his arms folded and that charming grin still present.

"Whatever you do," Death's granddaughter answered. "You got me out there, Teatime. This night's for you. We've got until dawn."

Thousands of ideas passed through his head. He almost felt like it was going to explode, his mind was racing so hard. But he was used to such tension.

"Pokers," he said at last.

"What?" Susan asked, sounding a little incredulous.

"I want to duel with pokers. Without a blindfold. And then I want to find out whether or not you do have a flying horse. And then," he grinned, "I want to get you drunk again."

"Oh no, not that," she moaned.

"You did say I could choose," he pointed out.

"I did. Alright; pokers first. But if you sprain my wrist again I'm cutting out your heart and eating it."

Susan had put a lot of thought into controlling Teatime, and decided to use the same trick she knew worked on Twyla and Gawan. Threaten them with something graphic, brutal, and painful. It never frightened them, but still did the trick. She wouldn't be sure if it worked on him until _after _the duel, but she might as well try.

"I'll have to be very… _careful, _then," he replied, then grabbed her wrist in a blur and began running for the Gaiters', if you could _call_ it running. It was much more like slicing through the air. He kept shifting from one shadow to another and pausing for half a second before darting back into the light and sliding into another crack of darkness. He pulled Susan behind him effortlessly, almost like a kite, and he wasn't even starting to become winded when they reached the Gaiters'. She probably would have said something during the 'trip', but she was too caught off guard.

"I'll get the pokers," Teatime said as he released her, then vanished into the shadows. Susan opened her mouth to speak half a second too late.

"He's energetic today," she mumbled.

"Really?" he mused behind her. Susan whirled around. How could he be back _already? _"I hadn't noticed."

"Give me that poker, _Tea_time," she grumbled.

He grinned.

"Oh, Susan. You never rest, do you?"

He tossed her a poker, keeping the spare for himself. At practically the same second the fireplace poker left his fingers his poker arched towards her, and the clang of metal meeting metal rang out in a smooth, clear note. It was too pure a sound for the course, cheap, metal, but this wasn't just iron that they slashed, hacked, and tore at one another with. It was metal used in a _duel_, and not just any duel – this was a duel between two people who were very, very good. This was an epic, moonlight duel that even the gods watched. And if _that _couldn't alter the cellular structure of the household implements, _nothing _could.


	8. Homicidal Habits

**Author's Notes:**** Think of this as your belated St. Patrick's day chapter, alright? I'm claiming temporary insanity again, so sorry if this bit isn't quite up to par. I wrote it so long ago, and have rewritten it I don't know how many times, but it never come out _right_. Aw well; I guess I can't do any better so you'll have just to stick with until I get better. Ha.**

Break

Part Three

***

"Why don't we put up a bet?" Blind Io suggested.

The gods glanced around.

"Does anyone here want to bet against _Teatime?_" Fate mentioned.

"Who would bet against _Susan?_" Astoria countered.

Secretly, the gods were a little (a _little, _mind you) afraid of thosetwo particular mortals.

The Lady crossed her arms in agitation.

"I rather like them. It seems… chancy, those two together," she said.

"Yes, but just think of how powerful they are one their own," Blind Io pointed out. "Imagine how frightening they'd be _together_."

The gods trembled.

"As I said; chancy," the Lady repeated.

"You like chancy, don't you? Well, Lady, they're not going to work out," Fate replied. "As everyone knows – "

"_You can't cheat Fate,_" the gods chorused, perhaps slightly mockingly. They'd heard _that_ one time (or a hundred) too many. It _was _true; no _one _can cheat fate. But if _two_ people _could, _it would be Susan and Teatime.

"I still think that they'd be terribly entertaining to watch for a little while," the Lady said, standing her ground and crossing her arms.

Astoria smiled dreamily.

"Perhaps… for a little while. What do you think, Blind Io?"

"Maybe a little while," he sighed in resignation.

"The Lady _always _get's whatever she wants," Fate grumbled angrily.

*

Teatime won; a bit because he was stronger than Susan, but mostly by sure dint of luck. He grinned at the panting, pale Susan with her back against the play structure, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"So _do _you have a flying horse?" he asked, not lowering the tip of the poker pressed just below her clavicle.

"His name is Binky, and he's my grandfather's."

"Binky?" he sounded slightly surprised.

"Is there something _wrong_ with that?"

Teatime raised the poker up her throat until he forced her chin up. Her face gave him an amused glare, as she stared over her cheeks.

"No, not at all," Teatime stared intently down and to the left. "I just expected something more... imposing. Would he mind if we took a ride?"

"Binky, or Granddad?" Susan asked.

"Either. Both. Whichever wouldn't."

"Put the poker down, and I'll call him."

"Binky, or Death?" he grinned.

She rolled her eyes.

"_Binky._"

Teatime dipped his head and lowered the poker. He turned, then flipped out of the way as _her _poker came crashing down where he'd been a second ago.

"You're starting to figure me out, Teatime," Susan said, barely holding back a small smile, and then whistled a sharp, long note. A snowy white horse came galloping out of the sky, neighing brilliantly before nuzzling her. "This probably counts as breaking my 'normal' attempt…" she mumbled, petting the stallion's nose.

"Let's forget that tonight," the Assassin said, leaping astride the white horse and pulling Susan up in front of him. He reached around her to grasp the reins, and whispered into her white hair (it kept reaching out towards him, like static. It tickled) "Let's just be Susan and Teatime, and do whatever we want."

And with that Binky whinnied and galloped into the sky. It was cold, and the air whipped about them. Teatime had often dreamed about flying (quite literally), but it had never been so… pure, so simple and breathtaking. He stared down at the ground below them, feeling invincible.

"Isn't this… _fun?_" he whispered.

Susan liked the look on his face as he gazed at the Disc.

"Higher, Binky," she said softly, then raised her voice. "Where are we going?"

"Byers, maybe?" he suggested.

The governess groaned.

"I half hoped you'd forgotten about that."

"I don't forget easily."

"Yes you do," she corrected. "You have the attention span of a five-year-old on a sugar rush. You just have a habit of remembering things later."

Teatime cocked his head thoughtfully.

"Hmm… I'll have to try and fix that."

He rested his chin on Susan's shoulder thoughtfully, gazing at the stars dotting the black-blue sky. All the magic and smog filling the city below blocked them out when one looked up, but here they looked so big and bright. Pleasant memories of lying in the grass outside Ankh-Morpork, staring up at the stars, and counting all the ways one could kill someone with their bare hands filled him.

Binky angled downwards, towards the busy night streets of Ankh-Morpork. Susan slid off his back the moment he touched the stone pavement and patted the snowy white horse gently. She didn't hear nor see Teatime dismount, but suddenly he was by the door, holding it open and grinning. The governess rolled her eyes, but entered the bar. Byer's was crowded with the usual group of misfits, outcasts, not-quite-humans, and absolutely-positively-not-even-close-to-humans.

"I still don't get why you want to be here," Susan grumbled after she ordered a drink. "It's not like you're going to have anything."

"Yes, but you were so silly last time. It was fun watching you."

"Hurry with that drink, please!" she called over the bar.

The bartender glanced her way.

"I'm hurrying, Miss. But _please, _don't use your **Voice**, alright?"

"I _won't_, if I get my drink," she countered, then sighed. "Fine, just give me some water while I wait."

The bartender shrugged and passed her a glass, complete with ice.

Susan immediately emptied it on Teatime's head, his perfect blond curls growing all wet. He grinned, practically unfazed.

"Teatime," she said firmly. "I'm not going to make a fool of myself alone. If I'm getting drunk, you are too."

Teatime raised a dripping brow.

"You _did _say – "

"Make that two!" Susan called over the bar, ignoring the apprentice Assassin.

A few seconds later the glasses were set on the bar, and Teatime took his, examining it with a look somewhere between suspicious and curious. Susan (while sipping hers) watched, looking slightly amused, as he took a tentative taste. He made a face.

"It doesn't taste very good," Teatime said.

"It grows on you," Susan answered.

Some screeching started, and the governess slammed her hands on her ears. Teatime glanced behind himself, to see a fiddler furiously tuning his instrument. A few seconds later the sounds no longer sounded like a cat in a blender; in fact, the tune he played was actually quite catchy_._ To the apprentice Assassin's surprise, Susan started humming along.

"I know this song," she replied to his quizzical glance.

"You were a duke's daughter. This is a folk melody. How did you learn it?"

Susan wrinkled her nose, glanced around, leaned forward, and spoke very, very quietly.

"When I was little I step danced, and –"

"I thought you hated dancing," Teatime said loudly. Susan winced.

SHH! she hissed. The bartender glared at her. She got a little flustered. "Um, _shh! _And yes, I dohate _partner_ dancing and thought I hated all types. Then one day the Nac-Mac-Feegle invaded Sto-Helit and I was stomping on them. Someone said I'd be a good step dancer, and I tried it…"

"And you were terrible?"

"I wasn't half bad," she replied defensively. "I liked to dance to this song best."

"Why'd you stop?"

"I haven't done it since my parents died," Susan answered, taking another sip.

"That doesn't answer my question," Teatime asked.

"_Because my parents died_," the governess repeated.

The apprentice Assassin blinked.

"I don't… _understand_."

Susan rolled her eyes.

"It reminds me of them, and that I'll never see them again. And I look completely ridiculous doing it anyway." His eyes lit up dangerously. He opened his mouth to speak, but Susan cut him off. "NO! I am not, _not, NOT _doing that."

Teatime shrugged.

"It was just a thought."

Approximately half an hour later, the whole bar was clapping to the beat, and one tipsy Susan stood with her hands on her hips on the top of a table, feet moving as fast as Teatime stabbed. People cheered down below.

Teatime clapped gleefully, but he couldn't seem to stay in place. A drunk Assassin, or at least _this _Assassin, turned out to be the equivalent of a child on a sugar rush. He kept dashing back and forth throughout the room. Susan jumped down and the crowd cleared a bit as her feet danced in a flurry of flashes. Her hair danced, too – all springy and jumpy.

Teatime watched her steps closely, chewing his lip. He really needed to vent out all this bottled up energy, so he attempted to mimic her. Susan noticed, and stepped it up a notch. He tripped over his own feet, but laughed at himself and tried again. A few others joined in, and soon half the bar was step dancing.

"You're not half bad!" Teatime called, his grin freakishly wide even by his standards.

"I told you so! I _did!_" she replied, sliding into a spin and actually grinning. They faced one another, and Susan shook her head. "You're not _doing _it _right_."

"Yes I am," he frowned, and glared down at his feet angrily.

"No, like _this,_" Susan knelt on the ground, and attempted to move one of his feet with her hands. If Teatime hadn't been drunk for the first time in his life, he wouldn't have tripped. But he was, and fell backwards onto the ground. "Oh, I'm sorry!" Susan squealed worriedly. Teatime sat up stick straight, a slightly confused expression plastered to his face, but then he grinned.

"I feel funny!" he said loudly. "I feel very funny and you're very beautiful."

Susan cocked her head.

"That came out of nowhere," she observed.

"Yes. But you are."

"Well, thank you," she said, offering him her hand and pulling him to his feet. "You have very boyish curls."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Well," she said, touching one to see if it was still wet, "when they're _dry _they're very cute."

"Cute?" he asked, cocking _his_ head curiously.

Susan felt a little hazy. Some part of her thought she should feel embarrassed for saying that, but that part was buried under several mugs of alcohol. She shrugged it off and didn't notice that Teatime hadn't quite released her hand.

"Yes, _cute,_" she said instead.

"Is _that _good? I'm very new to caring about other people's opinion of me beyond 'bloody terrifying'."

"Well, you're good at _that. _And I rather like your curls," Susan answered.

Teatime beamed, and tapped the shoulder of the nearest person.

"I have cute curls. When they're dry," he added, grinning broadly.

The person he had tapped backed away slowly, but the Assassin wasn't paying him any mind anymore. He turned back to Susan, leaned forwards and kissed her cheek. Her eyes widened in surprised, and he whispered in her ear.

"And your hair is very _cute_, too, Susan." He leaned back, grinning still.

Susan's hair bunched up by her blushing cheeks, embarrassed.

"How so?"

"Watch," he said seriously, as if it were very important. He raised his hand near her face, and her hair started dallying towards him. "See? And it's so curly and white and shiny. When the moon shines on it it looks blue. And it smells nice, too."

"How would you know _that?_" Susan asked.

"You were right in front of me on the horse," he explained emphatically. He started jumping from one leg to the other. He just couldn't stand still. Susan laughed.

Teatime didn't often hear Susan laugh, and when she did, it was always dry and ironic. Here, it was pure, happy amusement. Her red face lit up, and her hair tangled a little. She looked so sweet. No, she looked so _cute_. He could feel this warm, happy explosion filling the whole of him. Part of it was probably the drink, but the majority was just how wonderful his Susan was.

"You know what?" Susan said, still smiling. Teatime cocked his head curiously. "You're not so bad after all."

*

About six hours earlier, a rather bored Teatime had been walking down the streets of Ankh-Morpork. It was then that he heard the dizzying music of a dance. Curious, and really having nothing better to do, he decided to see for himself what was going on.

Teatime didn't often get angry. But when he did, it could probably be described as some kind of icy hand constricting his heart (that, of course, would be assuming he had one, whichis a subject under serious debate). His cold fury made him sloppy and brutal. He never had a 'fit of rage' – he had baths of ice that consumed him, and more often than not someone would suffer for it. He was sloppy when he was angry, but he was just as dangerous as when he wasn't – the only difference being the seriousness that took over his usual light cheer.

Not many things could make said Assassin (in training) angry. He could get irritated when people got his name wrong, and if someone pushed him too far there they could possibly breach the borders and slip over the edge of his calm. He grew angry when he was ignored, unacknowledged or forgotten (when he didn't want to be). Those really were the only things he knew that could make him feel the elusive, dark emotion, and he hadn't thought anything else could stir it in him.

But as he slipped into the shadows of the ballroom, when others would have been in awe at the one couple there that could actually dance, or admire the huge buffet tables, or the elegant tapestries, Teatime had eyes only for the clumsy, all black couple stepping on each other's toes in the far corner that were staring intently at one another. His eyes, black and white, were trained on Susan. He couldn't make out her face at this distance, or tell exactly how she was feeling, but watching her dance with that man brought up two very different emotions in the Assassin's being.

The first was something he couldn't quite put to words. He'd never experienced it before, and it was strangely melded into the other that he could, in contrast, identify quite readily. This emotion was some sort of a strange longing. _He _wanted to be the one over there, dancing with Susan. He wanted her to step on _his _toes. He wanted her to look into _his _eyes and raise a brow at _his _comment. He wanted to hold her waist and her hand and spin her dizzy until she begged him to stop. But he _wasn't_.

And that's where the other emotion came in; pure, calculated, and cold anger. It made him want to slide across the room in a flash or two and gut the man in front of everyone. He wanted to slowly slit him open and watch him bleed. He wanted to scalp him, and _then _see him try to dance.

Teatime glared darkly.

_Not yet, _he thought. _Wait_.

The Assassin slinked across the room, one foot before the other as he made his way down the hall. He used each shadow, and took slow, calming breathes. He was angry, yes, but he had to keep a cool head. He _would_ keep a cool head. And just as he reached them, Susan and her strange dance partner stood apart and started to get some punch. She laughed at something he said.

_He _wanted to drink punch with Susan. _He _wanted to make her laugh.

"Excuse me, sir. May I have a word with you?" he asked in a quiet, low voice so the governess couldn't hear. "There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding."

Teatime stepped into the crowd as quickly as he could. He had to keep reminding himself to stay visible enough for the man to see him. The man who was dressed as an Assassin, but most _definitely _wasn't.

_He_ wanted to be dressed as an Assassin, to be a full-fledged, graduated, no-longer-apprentice, _Assassin_.

_He_ wanted to dance with Susan.

It didn't take long to find a deserted hall. When the man in an Assassin's costume came around the corner he was panting.

"Who on the Disc are you?" he asked, leaning on his knees.

Teatime grinned charmingly.

"I'm very possessive about my things. But that normally isn't a problem, as I don't claim things as mine very often," he paused. "My name's Teatime; what's yours?"

The man looked a little confused, and more than a little unnerved. The Assassin had that effect on people. It was hard to tell whether he wanted to have tea with you or gut you. If you knew him well, you'd know it was safest to assume the latter and act accordingly. If you didn't, you generally assumed the former, which is exactly why the people who don't know him well die at a much faster rate than those who _do. _Of course, it is also partly because one would have to be very skilled to make it as long as they did anyhow. So far, there is only one such person: Susan.

"Fuller," Edwin managed apprehensively.

"Well, Mr. Fuller, you should probably know something," Teatime said, slowly approaching his prey.

"What?" Edwin was backing away from the man stalking towards him. He _looked _friendly enough (excluding those black and white eyes) yet was somehow triggering alarm bells inside the Lord's head that screamed, quite clearly, '_RUN!!!_'. He didn't, though; that would be ungentlemanly. His back hit the hall's wall and he felt very trapped. The Assassin leaned forwards towards the Lord's face.

"Susan's mine," Teatime explained with an eerie smile as the knife flew into his fingers like a magnet and jabbed into Edwin's stomach in one, smooth movement. Shock spread across the Lord's face as the sharp, agonizing pain filled him. "You should keep your distance from my things." The poor man didn't even see the blade before the apprentice Assassin's fingers closed around his throat.

The Assassins' Guild had explained to Teatime many times that he wasn't supposed to kill unless he was paid to do so (and it must be an exorbitantly _high _fee, too, or he'd just be a common hitman). Normally, after such behavior, an apprentice would be expelled. But Teatime was exceptionally good – one would have to be a fool not to see that – and they kept him around because of it. It's not that the Assassins' _wanted_ a good Assassin (though that didn't hurt his case), it was that they were pretty sure, should Teatime be expelled by their order, that they would be found floating in the Ankh a few days later – missing several vital organs.

So they had merely taken him aside, and very carefully explained to him that he was an _Assassin _(in training). He was above such messy business. He should be tidy, neat, and precise. Killing more than was necessary was sloppy.

Teatime, however, had nodded, smiled, thanked them for their correction, and blatantly ignored them. He did as he pleased, and killed as he pleased. But never had the Assassin enjoyed killing someone so much. It felt so good, he thought, watching the Lord's essence drain away so slowly. If felt good, seeing him die, feeling him die at his hands. It satisfied that horrible combination of longing and anger that had welled up inside him.

This 'Mr. Fuller' wouldn't dance with _his _Susan ever again.

**A/N: Anyone who thought they could get away with reading one of my fics without having to read a REVIEW! request is nearly as insane as I am. Nearly.**


	9. Aching Heads and Suitable Suitors

**Author's Notes:**** No time for a long Author's Note, as if I think about this much more I'm just going to delete the chapter and abandon the story. Which is why I'm posting it now before I can think better of it. So review! And, er... enjoy? If you can? This story is getting much closer to closing, just to let you know. I can't imagine more than four more chapters.**

**Ach, I'd really better post this. I'm already regretting it. **

Break

Part Four

***

_BAD! BAD! SO BAD! she shrieked at the grinning Teatime, completely contradicting what she'd said earlier. Susan had made the terrible mistake of giving said apprentice Assassin Binky's reins, and now they were diving and sailing through the (much-later-than) midnight black sky. She was clutching him for dear life as they bombed downwards, then shot upwards with no discernible pattern._

That was one memory. There was also something about step dancing, but she must have dreamed that.

_She was spinning and spinning until her head hurt._

"_You're going too fast, _Tea_time!" she'd called as he had pulled her to him._

"_That's the _point, _Susan," he'd replied evilly. Yes, evilly_.

That was another memory, so foggy and faint. She couldn't tell for the life of her whether or not it had happened before or after the last.

So yes, through her throbbing head, Susan remembered _some _things. But none of them explained how she'd ended up sitting on her bedroom floor with her hands, feet, legs, and pretty much everything else tied up. Of course, there really could only be one answer.

_Teatime! _she wanted to screech, but she was gagged. _That... that... that... URGH!_

Remembering what she'd practiced yesterday, Susan started sliding out of the bonds. She was no expert, but Teatime had tied rather simple knots, which made her think he'd done it for the express purpose of her escaping. Susan stood, shook out her sore limbs, changed her clothes, and went to go check on the children. They were fast asleep, and perfectly still. They didn't even look like they were breathing. Susan narrowed her eyes, and opened the curtains.

It was before dawn, but not long. The governess was slightly surprised, as she couldn't possibly imagine how she could have slept for anything less than several hours, and it should be far later than it was.

_Wait,_ she thought. _Wait; time isn't moving._

"_This is... _fun_,"_ _he said with a crooked grin. "I wish we could stop dawn."_

"_Maybe we can," Susan replied with a snap of her fingers._

The governess groaned, slamming her head at her own stupidity. He was somewhere, then, and time was frozen. Just _grand_.

_I'm never drinking _again, she mentally growled, charging down the stairs at an astonishingly quick pace. Teatime was in the kitchen.

Sipping cocoa.

"Hi, Susan," he said cheerfully. Susan stalked up to him, tilting her head angrily and raising a long, slender finger.

YOU TIED ME – she paused and took a deep breath. "You – " she took another breath. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" the apprentice Assassin almost pouted.

"Some of it."

"Shame."

He took another sip.

Susan narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"No time. Time isn't passing."

The governess rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean, Teatime."

"Oh, I don't know," he answered airily. "A long time. Too long." Teatime grinned, "I'm glad you're awake."

Susan sighed.

"You didn't have to tie me up, you know," she said, leaning her back against the counter beside him.

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it."

"I most certainly did not!"

"Susan, you know you love a challenge just as much as I do."

"I do not – !"

"Thank you."

"_What?_" Susan blinked. It was terribly confusing, how randomly he changed topics.

"Thank you, for spending All's Fallow with me," he explained. "I've never had a happier holiday. You were so cute when you step danced."

Any warm feelings starting to sprout in her from his words died brutal deaths at that second.

WHAT. DID. YOU. SAY?

"Oh, and it's nice to know that my curls are _cute, _too."

She almost screeched, but her head started pounding worse than ever and she sagged back against the counters. She didn't have the strength.

"You're just loving this, aren't you?" Susan moaned, hand to her face.

"Oh, yes," he said, eyes flashing dangerously. "I'm having so much..._ fun_."

She managed a glare for a full three seconds before groaning once more.

"I'm not." She glanced up at him, looking a little exasperated, "How comes _you're _doing fine? You had almost as much as I did!"

"I guess I just don't get hangovers," he replied nonchalantly, replacing his now-empty mug on the counter.

If Bilious didn't hate Teatime already (from all he would hear from Violet), he would now. The poor oh-god.

"How did you boil the hot chocolate?" Susan asked quizzically. "It's not like time's running."

Teatime's brow furrowed.

"I hadn't thought of that." He grinned, "That's probably why."

Susan raised her brows and nodded in agreement.

"Belief does play a large factor in everyday life." She laughed dryly, "...And it looks like one crazed Assassin is entering mine. Who would have thought?"

"I'd very much like to be a part of your everyday life, Susan," he said, dipping his head for emphasis.

"I'm not sure if I have a _choice _in that matter. But," she hesitated, "but if I did, I don't think I would send you packing." The smug grin he gave her was just too much. "...I'd just impale you with a poker," she added. Teatime smiled at her remark, looking a little dangerous.

"Hold still."

"What – ?"

It wasn't like Susan had moved. It wasn't like he had, either. No, the _wall _jerked forwards, slamming into her back, and Teatime magically appeared directly in front her, their noses almost touching.

"Hi, Susan."

He leaned forwards and kissed her before he could think better of it.

Teatime could literally feel the shock on her face, and it was a good half a second before she pushed forwards towards him. He was surprised by how completely wonderful and amazing it was.

The apprentice Assassin pulled back to see the look on her face; it was somewhere between shocked, infuriated, confused, and... was that a tinge of bliss?

"Hi," she gasped, then grabbed the back of his head by his curls (rather painfully, too, but he supposed he deserved it) and wrenched him back, trembling. They kissed for another second or two before she pressed her forehead against his, putting two fingers on her lips. "Goodbye," she managed, unable to meet the black and white eyes boring into her.

Susan ran.

Teatime grinned and gave her a ten second head start before darting after her.

_He just doesn't get it, does he? _she thought as she heard the lack-of-sound of his footsteps behind her as she scaled up the steps. She was _running _from him. She _wanted _to get away. She _needed _a hot bath, a bit of time by herself to sort everything out, tons of hot water, a few pieces of chocolate, plenty of bubbles, a good book, and did she mention a bath?

She felt so confused and dizzy.

_I've just kissed an Assassin (in training), _she thought, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her. _Worse. I've just kissed a crazy Assassin (in training), who tried to drown me, who poisoned a man in front of me, who got me drunk, and to add insult to injury called me cute. _A small, minute part of her whispered (along with a dreamy grin) 'He called me _cute..._', but that part was blocked out by the rest of Susan. _And to top it all off I've never felt so fantastic in all my life. This is terrible!_

"We've only just started, Susan. We can't stop _now,_" he said, directly behind her. She whirled around and gasped, before sagging in relief.

"You frightened me."

"Did I?" Teatime grinned.

She managed a glare.

"You used the window, didn't you?" Susan asked dryly.

"You shouldn't have to ask."

"I suppose you're right."

He cocked his head at her.

"I thought you ran to see if I could catch you. That isn't right. I don't understand."

"I'm not exactly sure myself," she said bluntly, with a shrug. "I just… went a little crazy. When we kissed. Not when I ran. No, when I ran, er, when we… I can't tell which, is the problem I suppose."

"It can't hurt to go a little crazy, Susan," he said innocently, stepping closer. "I consider myself a little over the edge, and I think it suits me."

_A _little? Susan thought dryly. _I find _that _hard to believe_.

She didn't say it, though.

"Suits _you_, maybe. But I'm not sure if _you _suit me. Or if _I _suit _you, _for that matter."

"You suit me," Teatime answered without the slightest bit of hesitation. "I know that. And if you suit me I must suit you."

"It's not that simple," she sighed.

"Why isn't it?"

"Because – " the governess chewed her lip. "Well, you see – " she paused. Teatime stared at her patiently, waiting for her explanation. "It's just that – " She sighed in exasperation. "You're so – "

"You don't know what you're saying, do you?" the apprentice Assassin said, a devilish grin growing slowly on his cherubic face. Susan glared in reply. She really didn't want to admit that he was right at this very second. He tilted his head, leaning forwards slightly. "You don't have any idea what to say."

"Yes I do," she replied defiantly.

"Then say it."

"I – " she paused. "Fine. So you're right," Susan grumbled, glancing down in agitation.

"Oh, Susan, don't get... _angry,_" he whispered softly. "There really is no reason to be." She could tell he just getting a kick out of it. "And we had so much... _fun _last night. I'd thought we were getting on rather well." His voice had dropped to that low, 'I'm in power' tone and his posture had become all slick. Her hair liked it, and was drifting towards him again.

_Stop it, stupid hair! _she growled mentally.

"Then a few seconds ago we were getting along _very _well. And let me tell you a secret," he leaned even nearer, whispering conspiratorially, "I've always thought romance very silly. I still do," he managed to move an inch closer, "but a romance with _you _doesn't sound silly at _all_. In fact, I _want _one. I don't often want things, Susan."

"You can't always get what you want," the governess replied dryly, meeting his eerily near black and white eyes without flinching.

Teatime frowned, glancing down but not moving back.

"People always say that. But as of yet, I happen to believe that particular rule applies to me just as much as the laws of physics."

"Not at all, you mean," Susan countered.

He grinned.

"Exactly."

He kissed her softly, far too tenderly for one so cold. Her hair reached out and wrapped around his face like seaweed, and Susan slid her arms around his neck. As paradoxical as it all sounded, she had never felt so safe, or so complete.

And he knew exactly what she was. He knew she was Death, and Human, and Susan, and he still wanted her. And he held her so tightly, and he was smart, and strong, and interesting, and unpredictable, and he was _there _when she needed him.

"You do suit me," she whispered.

"I told you so," he replied, then kissed her again in an explosion of bliss.


	10. Tensions

**Author's Notes:**** This chapter has been a long time coming, and is the main reason that this story is 'T' (though there are a few others), so be forewarned. Only one or two more chapters before I rewrite the two Teatime and Susan scenes in the book with their thoughts (which I'm _not _looking forwards to), and I've thought of a way to sneak a bit of original work inside that. But just know that it's coming. **

**Here you are - and I'm not updating until I get some reviews, so be WARNED!  
**

Break

Part Five

***

"Hi, Susan," he chirped.

"Stalker," she snapped, not breaking her pace down Ankh Morpork's street. The apprentice Assassin wrenched her hair back, dove around in a black blur and kissed her. She almost sighed – she'd missed him so much – but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction and raised a brow instead. "Ah, an amazingly _make my stomach flutter _kind of stalker. I suppose I don't have to mind _you._"

Teatime grinned.

"How have you been, Susan? I'm sorry I haven't stopped by in a while."

The governess rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I haven't seen you in a whole _week_." Secretly, she barely made it five hours without him anymore. She really was starting to get addicted, and that was really (_really_) annoying her. "The world's coming to ruin." It actually was, but she would never let him know that.

"What are we, exactly?" he asked, touching her pale cheek and tilting his head.

"We're Susan and Teatime, deadly frien-emies," Susan replied, allowing a dry smile to touch her face. "And we're getting along just fine."

"Good. I thought so too, but you are so very..." he paused, then grinned when the word he was looking for came to mind, "_unpredictable_."

"Am I, now? At least I'm not boring."

"You, _boring?_" he shook his head. "_Never_."

"Except when I read," Susan pointed out.

"One makes allowances for that."

He leaned forwards and kissed her again. It was so different from anything he'd ever experienced before, so novel and new, and he just couldn't get enough.

"Teatime," she managed after a good few seconds, "we're in the middle of the street."

"So?" he asked, blinking and tilting his head, blissfully oblivious.

"Oh, come on!" Susan laughed, dragging him along the sidewalk. She just couldn't hold it in, he was so silly.

"Where are we going?" Teatime wondered, falling in step beside her.

"To pick up some shoes for Twyla and Gawain."

"Where are they?"

"You're certainly very curious today," Susan observed. "How have _you _been?"

"Terribly busy," he explained. "I'm coming so very close to graduating, and have so many... _difficult _assassinations to take care. It's wonderful!"

Susan sighed.

"Most people are terrified of their final exams."

"I'm not 'most people'."

"_That's _for sure," Susan mumbled.

"What'd you say?" the apprentice Assassin asked curiously.

"It doesn't matter."

"Susan, do you have Hogswatch off?" Teatime asked randomly. "It's coming up fairly soon, and I'd thought we could share it like All's."

"No," she answered. "No, I'm going to be helping Twyla and Gawain."

"Oh..." he glanced down, frowning slightly, then brightened. "Well, perhaps someone will want someone inhumed then. That would be fantastic. Not quite as good as spending the day with you, but a challenge nevertheless."

"Wait," Susan said, stopping mid-step and clutching his arm to halt him too. "Did you just say that I beat _inhumations?_"

She honestly didn't believe it.

Teatime just gave her his trademark grin.

"On your good days."

Susan raised a brow.

"I have _bad _days?"

"Everything fluctuates."

"I suppose so," she agreed with a dismissing tilt of her head. They walked in silence for a few seconds before Susan blurted out what she'd promised to keep to herself. "Thank for stopping by, Teatime. And... and you know you're always welcome to peep through a window, or something, don't you?" She really didn't want to have to go through another week without seeing him. "Or maybe meet me at the park when I'm with the children. Or even knock on the door. I _would _let you in, you know. I really would," Susan nodded for emphasis.

Teatime's ever-present smile twitched and he kissed her again.

"Don't worry, Susan," he whispered softly before stroking her jawbone with his knuckles (Susan hated how darn good it felt), "I'll be back soon," the apprentice Assassin assured before vanishing in a black blur.

"Cheat," she grumbled as she started on her way again.

Teatime liked doing that – teasing her and then running off. It was highly infuriating, but even the 'teases' were so wonderful that she put up with the rest of it. Not only that, but he was an excellent listener when it came to ranting (even though she suspected he found it terribly amusing), and she didn't have many people she felt comfortable spilling out her soul like that to. Why she'd started feeling comfortable about doing that around _him _she didn't know. It didn't make any sense, really, but Susan couldn't help it. He was so bloody wonderful.

"I'd better not be turning into one of those hopeless romantics," she mumbled.

Oh, Susan never would.

The governess continued her brisk pace to Lord George Arbitiore's mansion. It was too early for him to be in his shop (not much passed dawn), but he would have the shoes somewhere there, and since they both knew who he _really _was (a Lord pretending to be a Shoemaker) it wouldn't matter if she stopped by. He really was a sweet old man, even if he wasn't exactly _old _(not yet fifty, but he gave the feeling of being very wise).

It wasn't long before she came to his block and saw his nice house (if the elegantly architectured, splendidly decorated, beautifully embellished work of art could be lowered to the mere status of 'nice house') in the bright morning light. Susan came up to the door and left a sharp, heavy knock before waiting patiently for a reply.

Seconds passed, and there was nothing. The governess blinked in surprise; he was always up by now, and always answered the door very quickly. She knocked again, but still there was no reply.

"Sir George?!" she called as she rapped on the door once more. "Lord Arbitiore?!"

Still there was no reply. Susan's eyes searched nervously, debating whether or not she should investigate.

_He's probably fine. Maybe he was called to one of those gods-awful dances and stayed up late. Maybe he read a good book passed three and is sleeping in now. Maybe he had to be somewhere_, she assured herself.

But this is Susan we're talking about. She lasted exactly 10.3381 seconds before attempting to pull the door open. It was locked.

Lord Arbitiore _never _locked his door.

If Susan hadn't been worried before, she was now.

The governess nodded in affirmation, called on her powers, and stepped through the elegant wood door into his foyer. Ahead of her some stairs led up to the upper floor. To the left a huge archway led into the living area, and to the right was a hall branching off to the library, dining room, and kitchen respectively. It was deathly quiet, and terribly dark. There weren't many windows, for as lovely as the manor was, the city block surrounding it was _not._

Something fell on Susan's shoulder, and she flinched at the weight. Her hand brushed against it; it was wet, and thick. She held up the substance to the dim light, and made out a red sheen.

"_Blood,_" she gasped. "But how – ?" Susan's head slowly – very, very slowly – turned upwards. The ceiling domed directly above her, but that wasn't what caught her eye. "Oh!" she called in horror, in pity and shock and revulsion. It was one of the ugliest, most terrible things she had seen.

A _dog, _its species hardly discernible, was nailed to the ceiling, blood and gore in plenty as it fell from above.

"Oh," she repeated, and unlocked the door behind her, swinging it open for some light. She was about to leave, but had to investigate a little further. What if Sir George was still here, still alive but only just barely? If she left him, he might die_,_ and she couldn't forgive herself that.

So Susan darted into the living area, before gasping at the mutilated bodies before her. Thank the gods; one of them wasn't the shoemaker/lord. No, they were his maid and butler, bloody and twisted, sprawled – most definitely dead – on the floor before her. Her heart pounded as she shook her head in shock, stepping backwards slowly. Her heel hit something, and she whirled around. It was only an end table, and she sighed in relief. But then she saw what lay beside it – a headless body, lying listlessly on the ground. It didn't take much looking to find his head—Lord Arbitiore's head.

"No," she said, shaking the one firmly attached to her neck. "No, no – " – NO! Susan finished in her **Voice**.

And to think, she'd almost brought the children with her.

*

Half an hour later the police were swarming through the building, and Susan was lying in her room, watching the ceiling with fervent interest. She felt sick, and couldn't bear to close her eyes. The images were burned to the backs of her lids, and the moment they slid over her sight she saw bloody, mangled, bodies.

"Are you all right, Susan?" a soft voice asked curiously. Susan didn't turn her head; she knew the sound of his words so well. She hadn't heard him come in, but that was usual. He was probably kneeling to the side of her mattress right now. She didn't have to look to know.

"Who could _do _something like that?" she wondered.

"Like what, Susan?"

"A werewolf gone mad? Some kind of… of insane monster? They weren't just killed. They were… _mutilated_."

"Mutilated?"

Now the governess did roll over to meet his eyes.

"I went to pick up the shoes."

"And?" he tilted his head curiously.

"There was a dog. Nailed to the ceiling. Everyone who should have been in the house was dead." Teatime made a funny face, something she'd never seen before. She wasn't exactly sure _what _it was, but didn't pay it much mind. She was still in shock. "It was horrible."

"You look all gray," the Assassin observed. "You're normally so pale. But now you're all gray."

"I shouldn't feel like this," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I feel so sick."

"You're almost invincible," Teatime replied, equally softly as he brushed her cheek. "Almost."

"I don't feel invincible."

"Then you aren't. How you feel shapes what you are in many ways." He tilted his head, "But you're still my Susan. Don't worry, because you will be all right."

"How so?"

"I will make you."

She shook her head.

"I can't just brush this off."

"Why not? Everything happens every day. Your parents died when a carriage fell off a cliff, didn't they? They must have been very mangled and twisted. But that's over now, and it helped make you who you are."

"But… but not like _this_," she shook her head again. "I just need time."

"It was only three bodies and one dog. Is that so terrible?"

Susan sighed. He just didn't understand this sort of thing.

"Teatime, it's just that – " she cut herself off, sitting straight up. "What did you say?"

The Assassin cocked his head curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"You said three," the governess replied in disbelief.

Teatime stood, as if sensing a storm, but his face was impossible to read. It looked confused, but Susan could see passed the disguise. He was worried. She stood as well.

"I don't understand, Susan," he said in the best approximation to befuddlement he could muster.

"I never said how many there were," the governess said, taking a step forwards. "I _never _said that."

"Was it a lucky guess, then?" the Assassin attempted to pipe cheerfully. "Are there really three? It _is_ such a common number, as if the multiverse got tired of coming up with random amounts and decided to throw it in everywhere."

"By gods, it _was_ you, wasn't it?" she gasped, staring at him. "_You _– " Susan shook her head. "No." NO.

The Assassin frowned, glancing downwards in agitation.

"Susan, I don't see the problem. You _know _I'm an apprentice Assassin – "

"Know?" she called in disbelief. KNOW? "Why were you lying, then, if there 'isn't a problem'?"

"I wasn't _lying,_" he corrected. "You just seemed so disturbed about it. I didn't want you to be upset with me. But I still don't see why you are. You know that – "

"Assassins are tidy! Clean! They don't leave bloodbaths behind them!" Susan shrieked.

"I _am _tidy!" he replied with a dangerous glint to his mismatched eyes. "I even locked the door."

"That was _not _tidy, _Tea_time," she growled.

"_Teh-ah-tim-eh_, Susan," he replied coldly.

"Get out," she rasped.

"What if I don't want to leave?" Teatime asked, leaning forwards mere inches away as if to dare her to continue. His eyes flashed.

GET OUT. _NOW!_ the duchess answered, jabbing her finger towards the door.

"I don't use doors."

"The window, then. I don't care. I just never want to see you again."

"But Susan," he replied softly, a mock pout crossing his face, "I want to see _you _again."

Her hand went sailing across his cheek before he had a chance to say anything more. His physics-defying fingers caught her fist mid-swing, though, as he stared at her coolly and she glared at him with something beyond fury, beyond hatred. Susan tried to wrench her arm back, but his grip was like iron. It hurt, his fingers digging into her arm.

"You've already hit me once, Susan. I'm not stupid enough to let you do it again."

"Let go of me," she bit each word.

Teatime twisted her hand behind her back, jerking Susan forwards slightly as he kept his eyes unmoving and unblinking.

"But I don't want to."

The way the words left his mouth sounded like that of a stubborn child; insolent, a little angry, and very determined.

The gods (who were up to this second watching intently) hid their faces and peaked through their fingers.

Susan's lip curled in revulsion as her eyes shut tight so she wouldn't have to look at his face anymore.

"Release me now," she growled, "...or I swear you'll regret it."

The governess screeched as he wrenched her hair back, releasing her arm, and twisting her around so her back slammed up against him. Her hair squirmed in his grip, but he was used to that.

"I doubt so, Susan. You see, I'm not afraid of you. But I think," Teatime whispered, brushing his pointer finger down the side of her neck and sending tremors down her spine, "that you are a little afraid of me, aren't you?"

Footsteps rang on the stairs. Someone had heard her scream. The apprentice Assassin knew he'd have to make a strategically quick retreat very soon, but that could wait a few seconds.

"_Never,_" she hissed spitefully.

He dipped low over her ear, still pulling her head painfully.

"Oh, really? If that's true," he paused, and when he spoke again his voice was low and soft, "then why are you shivering?"

The door swung open to reveal Mr. and Mrs. Gaiter, worried expressions plastered to their faces. But Teatime was already gone.

*

"Clash and collide!" Fate called. "I told you this wouldn't work out!"

Astoria nodded.

"I thought I'd get a chance to do something a little _interesting. _You know, different from those usual love ballads. But there isn't much love down there. I'm getting a lot more anger, frustration, fear, confusion, disgust… et cetera."

The Lady daintily took another piece of popcorn and shifted in her seat.

"I'm rather enjoying it," she said lightly.

"Sure you are," the gods chorused.

"You've always had a sick sense of humor, Lady," Blind Io pointed out.

She raised a brow.

"At least I'm not as twisted as Fate."

"Oh, be quiet, won't you?! You're the one who got us into all of this. _I _fought it."

"Mmhmm, and think of all the entertainment we would have missed out on," she countered. "Even _I _didn't know Susan step danced. She must have hidden it _very _well. Did anyone else know?" They glanced around expectantly, but there was silence. "I rest my case."

Fate grumbled incomprehensibly.


	11. Crescendo

**Author's Notes:**** Well, a rather short chapter all things considered, but the next one is very, very long so that should make up for it. Of course, the next one is also a retelling of an already written scene, so maybe it doesn't quite count. Oh well, just read and review, because I'm not updating until you do!**

Crescendo

***

_She was entwined with him as they kissed, his hand warm and rough on her neck. Some part of her seemed to think there was a reason she shouldn't be doing this, but Susan couldn't remember why (and even if she could, she had the sinking suspicion that she would go on doing it anyway)._

"_I missed you," she breathed._

"_Good."_

_His other hand slid up to her throat as he kissed her again. It was gentle at first, before his touch tightened to a grip, and from there his fingers bore into her flesh. Susan's hands flew up to his as he shoved her forwards into the wall and her back slammed against it. Her head felt light as she gasped for the air that wouldn't come._

"_Let – go," Susan choked. The past came flooding back then, instead of the air she wanted – the dog, the servants, the headless form of the lord…_

_She tried so hard to pull air into her lungs, but was failing terribly. Panic filled her as she scratched at his tightening fingers, but they were unbreakable, and he was merciless as she sank to the ground. Lying flat she writhed underneath him as Teatime cheerfully strangled her. "Please – stop – this."_

"_But I don't _want _to stop, Susan – it's such a _fun _game," he explained with a pleasant smile as the world went black._

*

Susan sat bolt upright, eyes wide as she clutched the blankets above her. She felt like screaming, but refrained. She was Susan; it didn't become her.

"I can't go on like this," she said instead.

This was the seventh nightmare on the seventh day since she'd erased Teatime from her life. This was the seventh day that she couldn't stop thinking about him. This was the seventh day that she had spent feeling lonely with no one but Twyla and Gawain to keep her company.

"I hate him," she cursed. "I hate his perfect curls. I hate his maniacal, twisted smile. I hate his eyes, and his shrill laugh. I hate his odd voice, and the way he stares at me. I hate the way he loves games. I hate how childish he is and how he can't stay focused on something – unless we're counting _murders_, here – for more than five minutes. I hate him!"

How many times Susan had listed all that off in the past several days, she didn't know. But what she would never admit was that for every thing the governess hated about him, there was one that she missed.

She missed how he listened to her go on about her life. She missed how he'd attempt to cheer her up with his twisted logic. She missed how they would duel one another with pokers, and how he never could quite grasp the way of the world. She missed how he (attempted to) play chess and was always making cocoa. She missed how they would spend their holidays together, and how her next one she would be _alone_. She even missed the things she hated – she missed his perfect curls, his crazed grin, and his short attention span. She missed _him, _and the fact that she hated him more than any other person on the disc at the same time practically ripped her apart inside with the mixed emotions.

"I can't go on like this," Susan repeated, shaking her head.

The governess cursed that day, the stupid ball when she'd been stupid enough to notice a stupid Black Blur which had intrigued that stupid apprentice Assassin enough to get him to be curious about stupid her. She wished that she could erase him from her life and from her heart, because as much as she hated him, she needed him. She needed him to keep her company and listen to her attempt to correct his skewed version of life. She needed him to poke through the windows and surprise the heck out of her. She needed him to make her laugh like only he could.

"_That's it,_" she said, anger and spite coming through in her voice as she shoved off the covers and marched over to the window. She ripped open the curtains and took in a deep breath of the night air. "That's it. I'm not letting some crazed not-even-full-fledged-Assassin ruin my life. I'm not going to live like this anymore. I'm not going to give in and be weak and meek. I'm Susan, I'm a governess, I'm normal. I don't have Death for a grandfather, and I most certainly haven't ever met a Jonathan Teatime at a dull masquerade. I haven't, and I never will."

She nodded in affirmation. Today was day one; she was starting anew, wiping off the slate. She would have Twyla and Gawain, and work on getting Mrs. Gaiter to stop curtsying to her, and she would _move on_.

Susan nodded again, finding the repetition comforting as she allowed herself the smallest trace of a smile before sliding back under the sheets. That night she slept peacefully for the first time in almost a week.

*

"I miss you," he sounded pitiful, leaning through her kitchen window. Susan didn't look up. She knew what the expression would be – the curls haphazardly framing his slightly nervous, almost pouting face. He'd look abject, dejected, fidgety, nervous, curious, and sad all at once. She wondered if he had looked like that when he'd taken off George Arbitiore's head.

_Nah, _Susan thought, _he was probably grinning_. The sad thing was that in all probability that was actually true.

Susan didn't look up. She didn't give him the satisfaction. He didn't exist. She didn't know him.

"I want you."

She continued scrubbing the dishes stiffly.

"Susan, you've spoiled me." She could hear the nervous grin on his words. "I was so oblivious and found nothing better than going about my work."

_Yes, nailing dogs to ceilings and mutilating helpless maids is quite 'entertaining', isn't it? The poor woman couldn't have been much older than I am. You don't even admit how sick what you do is. You don't even _see _how sick it is__. You just _don't_, _Susan thought darkly. But she didn't look up.

"I didn't know what it was like to spend my holiday with you, to talk with you and play chess with you and duel with you. Now I'm all alone, and I don't want to go back to that. Please don't make me, Susan."

She couldn't help sniffing. She missed Teatime, she truly did. But Susan couldn't be with someone capable of such... _horrible _things. She simply couldn't, and she couldn't forgive him either. He'd given her a taste of love, of companionship, had been her only frien-emy and made her feel that being different was okay if only they were together. Then he had pulled the rug out from under her feet and reminded her that accepting being different led to disaster, loneliness, and brutal murders. She could never forgive him for that.

"I know you can hear me," he said, leaning into the window. She could hear the traces of anger edging his voice. He hated being ignored; she knew that well.

_But no one is here, _she assured herself. _I'm alone. I don't know any Assassins._

"Please acknowledge me, Susan. I'm not good at this. I haven't had much practice. Please don't do this. Please."

_No one here. No one here. No one here, _she chanted mentally over and over again.

Teatime clutched the sill of the window angrily. He had the greatest urge to slide inside and twist her twisting hair in his fingers. He wanted to make her squirm and shiver, to whisper to her and make her tremble. Maybe slice something – or some_one_ – up. Even if Susan did attack him with the poker, at least she'd _acknowledge _him. But he didn't have the time. He was going to be graduating soon; he shouldn't even have come here now.

"I'll be back, Susan," he said softly. "Please let me in, when I am."

And he didn't mean literally. Honestly, he couldn't care less whether or not he had to break into her house so long as Susan let him back into _her _again. As long as she breathed him and he breathed her, as long as he could make her shiver and listen to her rant on and on about silly things. He wanted her to let him into her, and he would pull her into himself.

But he could wait. He could be patient when he wanted to.

_I just need time_, she'd said. So she needed time. He could give Susan time. Teatime could be very patient when he had to – he just hated it like heck. But that was okay; he could handle it. He could wait.

_GET OUT, _she'd said. So Susan hated him now. She could feel that way if she wanted to. Teatime was used to being hated – yet somehow he had never hated it so much. But that was just fine; Susan had hated him before, but then had grown to care for him. He could let her fury burn and broil until it cooled into something softer.

Everything that had happened, Teatime was sure he could handle. It would take time, but he would get Susan back. She was his, and he never lost something of his own for very long.

_Assassins are tidy! Clean! They don't leave bloodbaths behind them!, _she hadn't said _that_. She'd screamed it, screeched it, yelled it, and burned it. That was the one thing that Teatime couldn't quite get passed. He was terribly proud of the fact that he was about to become an Assassin, and he had been very careful to do it right. And he _had _been tidy. The house was perfectly clean, bodies aside. The target was dead, and he _had _tested his breathing with a mirror as asked. There most certainly had been blood – that was to be expected, wasn't it? – but it hadn't been a _bath. _Had it?

Teatime glared at nothingness, and Nothingness, once more, truly wished it had been assigned a different occupation. As these longings were felt, the apprentice Assassin causing said wish was feeling very alone. He _missed _Susan, and he truly didn't understand why she was so upset with him. In fact, for only the second time, he was actually almost angry with her. He wanted her _back, _to try to explain the world to him, to glare at him and raise a brow. But _she _didn't want to _be _back.

Nothingness trembled as the power of said glare doubled.

*

"This isn't working out well at _all!_" Astoria, the goddess of love, whined between mouthfuls of popcorn. "I want uncontrollable _love! _Insatiable _passion! _Verging on dirty _ROMANCE!_ Not all of this 'you don't even exist' or 'I'm just going to wait' nonsense. It's so _dull_. They were such an epic romance before, too."

Blind Io's eyes blinked back tiny tears.

"It never could have worked, really," he whispered hoarsely. "He was a crazed Assassin and she was too logical to go with someone like him. Does anyone have a tissue?"

"The Game isn't over yet," Fate said, with a dangerous glint in his empty eyes. "There's more to this tale."

"Passion! I want _passion!_" Astoria called, raising her fists and tilting her pretty head back dramatically.

"I'll _consider _it," Fate offered slyly.

The Lady rolled her eyes and finished chewing her popcorn before she spoke.

"Just make it interesting, won't you?" she asked. "All I want is a bit of entertainment."

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, a sly smirk crossing his face. "It will be nothing less than _epic_."


	12. Stand Off

**Author's Notes: And here it is, the next chapter to 'One Dangerous Game'. It's kind of a combination between the book and the movie (mostly the movie, I'm afraid - the book wasn't quite on hand), and I put a lot of work into this. I'm rather happy with how it turned out, but I don't really know how good it is. You'll have to tell me - WITH A REVIEW (pretty please)!**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the dialogue; Terry Pratchett does. I'm sorry if I've upset anyone by using it, but I had to for this story to WORK. I didn't mean to make any copyright infringements or anything at all like that... I just really wanted to write this.

Round Six

Susan

***

So it'd all led to this.

_But one of them's a girl._

_Then do away with her _politely.

Teatime hadn't known 'her' would be _her. _He probably should have guessed, though. Life was poetic like that. Of _course _of all the people to try and stop him, it would be Death's granddaughter – the one woman he wouldn't want them to kill.

No, if Susan's life were to be ended, _he'd _be the one to do it.

_Calm down,_ he thought to himself as he watched her cautiously make her way up the bleach white stairs. _Calm down; anger makes you sloppy._

Teatime didn't like blocking out his emotions. He was very impulsive, and he had been _terribly _angry with Susan. But that didn't matter; it was part of the past now. She was here again, and they could start the Game once more. Susan had hated him once before, too, and later had grown to care for him. Once was all he needed to know that he could do it again, he reminded himself. The now full-fledged Assassin allowed himself a small smile, curbing his turmoil of mixed feelings into one of pleasure. The Game would continue – and it was a _fun _game.

At last she came near enough for him to slip out of the shadows, in one smooth movement relieving her of her weapon. It wasn't thievery. He would return it when he was done (which very well might be the end of all things, if he made it that far).

"Hello," an all too familiar voice chirped as Susan whirled around. Her heart started pounding as she saw his cherubic face. His perfect golden curls, his freakishly charming smile. She clearly saw his horrifying eyes and felt the way they settled on and burned into her.

So it had all led to this.

_I should have known,_ she thought. _Who else would they assign to kill the Hogfather? Who else would think of all this?_

That didn't stop her from being surprised. It didn't stop her voice from failing, or her breath from catching, or her heart from stilling. It only told her how silly she'd been to expect anything different. But the thoughts passed through her, and pass they did – she shoved them out, far away. This man had absolutely nothing to do with her. Nothing. She had never seen him before, with moonlight making his perfect curls glow. She hadn't seen him before, nor had she seen the bloody bodies he left behind. She didn't know him.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" he said thoughtfully, examining the sword. "Bone pommel; rather _tasteless _skull and bone decorations... Death himself's second favorite weapon. Am I right?"

He was trying to be sarcastic on that last note. But he was just as bad at it now as he was long ago. Teatime felt a slight twinge of displeasure at that, but it was alright. There would be more time to get better. What got under his skin was the fact that Susan wasn't doing anything (unless you counted slowly backing away). She wasn't acting like herself. He'd really expected morefrom her and was feeling a little disappointed.

"Oh my, this _must_ be Hogswatch. And this must mean that you are Susan." At last he raised his head and met her eyes in confirmation. She glared back at him as she clutched at the wall for support, stumbling backwards. "The famous granddaughter. Nobility. –I'd bow," he added, "but I'm afraid you'd do something... _dreadful_." Susan always did something dreadful, and he normally wouldn't mind it – _normally _he'd _enjoy _it – , but Teatime just didn't have time to dance around her at the moment. Tonight he would keep her still to the best of his ability.

Susan took in each breath one at a time, one swallow of air to fill her lungs and appease her body. Then she would revert to freaking out for half a second before reminding herself to breathe again.

Slowly. Backwards. One step at a time. She could take one more step.

If only her brain would start working.

He looked so eerie, somehow older than when she had last seen him. Which was completely ridiculous, when one realized she had seen him hardly two weeks before. He was dressed as a full fledged Assassin in stylish black, and it suited him. Susan almost commented on that, before remembering that she didn't remember or even know him. The governess reminded herself to breathe, and realized she probably couldn't say anything even if she wanted to. Somehow, though, she couldn't keep her heart from fluttering at his intense gaze. She'd missed him.

Some wizard started mumbling behind her, but he was nothing. There was only she and the man before her, locked in some sort of battle of wills.

_I've missed you, Susan, _his eyes seemed to say. _Let's _play _again, shall we?_

_I-don't-know-who-you-are-I-don't-know-who-you-are, _hers replied. That and, _Why do you have to be so bloody sexy in stylish black?_

She hoped the second thought didn't come across as clearly as his message had.

"How's it going, Mr. Sydney?"

There was some sort of mumbling that had some sort of semblance to Human Speech.

_Sydney, then? That's the man behind me? _Susan latched on to any excuse to ponder anything other than the Assassin before her. Unfortunately, he was staring at her silently with those mismatched eyes of his, and it was impossible to focus on anything else when they were boring into her. She wasn't sure how much longer she could take their full intensity.

So, Susan decided to be obnoxious.

"How do you know who I am?"

Teatime took a step forwards, his eyes flashing dark for half a second. The governess thought for certain she had gone too far, that he would lash out at her – but before anything was said he softened and calmed. The Assassin threw aside any frustration, and instead made it amusement as his eyes grew idle once more.

"Easy," he sounded light, cheerful. "Twerp's Peerage." So he was playing along, was he? Susan was only confused for a second before it became clear.

_He's making it a game, _she realized. _He couldn't take it otherwise._

"Family motto, _Non Timetis Messor._" He paused, glancing her up and down as if appraising her thoughts, trying to decode what she was feeling. "Your father was well known," he continued, his voice now low and soft. "He went a long way very fast. And as for your grandfather – "

Susan nearly flinched. He wasn't going there, was he? She had spent so much time, trying to forget, to ignore...

_Turn about is fair play, _rung in her mind. _I'm presenting him with what he hates most – being unacknowledged, ignored – and he is throwing what I do in my face._

"Honestly, that motto, 'fear not the reaper'," he leaned forwards as he spoke. His movements were smooth, like rippling water, as his voice slid throughout the room. She hid a shiver. "Is that good taste? …Of course, you don't need to fear him, do you?" the words were so soft, so delicate. Her heart quickened and Susan hoped to the gods he wouldn't notice. He tilted his head forwards, and when he spoke again she could barely hear him. "Or _do_ you?"

Her breath caught, and she resisted the urge to close her eyes. It wasn't _what _he was saying, she knew. It was _how _he was saying it. The worst part was that she knew that he bloody well knew the affect all this had on her.

And that was true. Teatime, at this very moment, was watching the near trembling Susan with her pulse pounding, looking ever so vulnerable. In some sick way, he couldn't help but delight in her state as he stared back at her, watching her flinch in her soul, even if her body remained calm.

Susan glanced down, if only so she wouldn't have to look at him anymore. She felt as if she couldn't breathe, and really wished she could stick her head out of a window for a few seconds.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she managed, somehow able to make it sound defiant even though it was so soft only he could hear. The governess gathered the strength to look up again. "Who are you anyway?"

Teatime glanced back and forth. He almost looked disappointed as he took in a deep breath, but his cheery default setting took over in less than a second.

"_Beg your pardon,_" he replied in a low voice. When he spoke again, it was upbeat and light. "My name's Teatime. _Jonathan Teatime,_" – the way his name came out was like a reminder, like an alarm clock telling you it's time to wake up – "…at your service," he finished softly.

It was too much. The air was too thick, the world too heavy. He was too close. Far, far too close.

"You mean," she started, hoping that this would shatter his smooth confidence, "like around four o'clock in the afternoon?"

It didn't work. If anything, he grew more intense as the slightest flash of anger glowed from behind his eyes.

"No. I did say _teh-ah-tim-eh_. Please don't try to break my concentration by annoying me," he replied smoothly before glancing over her shoulder. Susan nearly sighed in relief as Teatime's gaze at last released her, and she was able to get a few good breaths in. The air around her chilled, and she felt drained and shaky. "How are you getting on, Mr. Sydney? If it's just according to Woodly's sequence number six should be cocked with a blue-green light."

Teatime heard Susan's slight sigh of relief, and he became terribly amused when he looked back at her and she stiffened. Her eyes flicked left and right, as if looking for a way out.

_I wish Granddad were here, _she thought, much to her surprise. Death would step in, take back his sword, and show Teatime a thing or two about how you treat Death and his progeny while simultaneously getting the darn Assassin AWAY.

"You think your grandfather will come and rescue you?" Teatime asked, feeling terribly in control as he read her expression. It was an exhilarating sensation, one that filled him and made him more than he was. The slightest trace of a smile crossed his face as Susan's eyes widened in shock. "But now I have his sword, you see? I wonder..."

_Oh gods, _Susan thought, recognizing the twisted smile and curious glint that floated over his angelic face. _He can't possibly be thinking that he could possibly hurt my grandfather in any POSSIBLE way –_

It must have come through in her eyes, because his clearly replied:

_I can do _anything_, Susan. Anything I want. But I want other things, too… and you know how easily distracted I am._

Death's granddaughter shivered, but lifted her chin defiantly nevertheless.

There was a clicking sound from behind her, and this time Teatime kept his eyes trained on Vulnerable Susan as he spoke. He didn't want to give her the relief. He wanted everything to pour down on her. He wanted her to drown in confusion and anger and fear and perhaps something else until the moment came to take her back. He wanted her to be overwhelmed and lost. It was only _fair, _after all, with the terrible loneliness she put him through.

"All fingers and thumbs, Mr. Sydney?" he asked, laughing slightly inside at the wizard's obvious terror.

"Um… I've managed to open the sixth lock, Mr. Teatime," he managed, standing.

"Really?" the Assassin sounded under impressed as his eyes bore into Susan's. "But it may not be all important now." He tilted his head at the duchess, but continued to speak to Sydney. "Thank you anyway. You've been most… _helpful_."

"Um…?" the wizard mumbled.

"Yes, you may go," Teatime almost sounded a little exasperated, but his voice was so soft it was hard to tell. The wizard left in a blur almost as blurry as when Susan had first seen that darn Assassin in the ballroom. But she didn't make the comparison. She was still trying to convince herself that she didn't know him.

"Is that all you're here for? A robbery?" she tried, hoping to get on his nerves. Her voice came out low and quiet, but it didn't shake, and the tone (if one's ears were sharp enough to hear it) was very defiant. Susan was actually rather proud. "Like a petty _thief?_" she added, just to add an extra bit of oomph behind it. The governess almost smirked with satisfaction.

"I'm not a thief, madam," he was practically bouncing from one leg to the other, and looked suspiciously like Twyla or Gawain just before they played the ever-popular children's game 'House' (the one where they have a sweet little family for a few days that is massacred by a whole crusade of armed warriors at the end). Teatime grinned devilishly. He raised his brows as he leaned forwards conspiratorially, "But if I were, I would be the kind that steals fire from the gods."

"We've already got fire," she managed defiantly. It was hard to do when her breath kept catching. She couldn't _think _with him being so near and purposefully seductive.

"There must be an upgrade by now," the Assassin replied dismissively. "But no, I'm not a thief. These gentlemen are thieves. That's Medium Dave," he glanced behind himself, then jerked his head over Susan's shoulder. "And exhibit B is Banjo." Teatime leaned forwards once more, and spoke as if it were the most interesting, novel, and inexplicable thing in the world. "He can talk!" Some terrible screaming echoed from down the halls as he finished his words. It sounded like Mr. Sydney's voice, but no one but Susan seemed to be phased. She was about to ask about it when Teatime cut her off. "No more Hogfather. And that's just the start. I bet I can make people believe… _anything I want._"

He was terribly enjoying himself, she could tell.

"What's this?" Exhibit B rasped in disbelief. "You said no more Hogfather?"

The slight bout of confusion that fogged Teatime's face was simply priceless as his eyes flicked over to the burly man. He turned around to glance at the one he'd called Medium Dave.

"He does know what we've been doing here, doesn't he?" There was silence. "You did… _tell _him?"

Susan could have laughed at the expression on Teatime's face as the cut-throat-like man tilted his head (as if to say 'Sorry. _You_ try telling the two-year-old he can't have candy'), but she kept the feeling bottled up inside. It was a good feeling, though. A _very _good feeling.

"There's got to be a Hogfather," poor Banjo sounded confused and desperate. "There's _always_ a Hogfather."

Teatime was beginning to get a little frustrated. First Susan had come, which had seemed like a pleasant surprise, but she could be quite distracting it seemed. And she was more than enjoying this.

Not to mention that now he had to go _justifying _what he was doing. Every Assassin knew that you ran into troubles when you tried to justify your work to _yourself _beyond 'I need food at my table and gold silverware to go with it', let alone when you had to do it for others. This was uncharted – not to mention _dangerous _– territory.

Much better to lay the blame on someone else.

"She did it," he whipped out, pointing at Susan accusingly. The look of confusion and surprise that shattered her previously held composure made him feel a little giddy and terribly smug. She had been laughing inwardly at him earlier, he knew, so now _he _could laugh. "She _killed _him," Teatime added dramatically, allowing slight traces of sadness and shock to taint his voice.

Banjo glared at her.

"No I didn't! He – " Susan called defensively, thoroughly appalled and not quite over the surprise.

"Did," Teatime added, cutting off.

"Didn't!"

"Did."

"Didn't!"

"_Did._"

There was finality in the way that final word came out.

Susan took in an exasperated breath as Teatime almost smirked. _He _had had the last word.

"What's this about the Hogfather?" Banjo asked, whining in a burly fashion. Yes, apparently that was possible.

"I don't think he's dead, but _Tea_time has made him very _ill,_" Susan dipped her head to emphasize the final word, glaring daggers at the Assassin before her.

"Who cares," Teatime managed to sound cool and rational as he spoke to Banjo while his eyes pierced into Susan. "When this is all over Banjo, you can have as many presents as you want. Trust me."

_I made that mistake, Banjo, _Susan thought. _Don't you, too._

She immediately reprimanded herself for admitting that she knew Teatime, even mentally, and knocked the thought right out of her head.

"There has to be a Hogfather, else there's no Hogswatch!"

The poor man was clinging to the one truth he _knew _must be.

"It's just another solar festival."

Susan could hear the slight edge of agitation crawling into Teatime's voice.

The Medium Dave stepped forwards confrontationally.

"Banjo and me are going," cut-throat glared. Teatime turned to him very slowly, his head tilting and moving forwards as if through molasses in a thick, smooth motion. He blinked softly as Medium Dave continued. Even he was following the current fad of staring intently at one person and speaking to another. "Banjo, you're coming with me right now."

The man returned Teatime's glare without much fear, but this didn't seem to bother the Assassin.

"Grab her, Banjo. It's all her fault," he said, appealing to childish logic.

Banjo glanced around in confusion and made a step towards Susan. She flinched, hoping he'd listen to his brother over the Assassin. He didn't, but he did stop and look at Teatime helplessly.

"Our mam said no hittin' girls," he explained. "No touchin' 'em or pullin' 'em hair."

Teatime almost sighed in exasperation. This really wasn't going well. But he could work it out, he was sure.

He turned towards Banjo, catching a glimpse of Susan. She looked shaken, perhaps her version of worried, as she stared intently at the ground. Pretty Susan, pale and perfect as she denied they'd ever met. She knew that that would upset him, he was sure of it. It was her own revenge. But he could get back at her for it, tit for tat. He'd remind her they knew one another – he'd remind her of the times they'd shared and hurt her _hard_ at the same time. Even if there had been no reason to, this moment, this conversation, made what he was about to say just too perfect to keep only in his mind.

"She's not girl," Teatime said, remembering that one night when he had followed her to Byer's. "– She's a _freak_."

The governess looked up at him in surprise, her face shattered in every sense of the word. Her heart stopped, and two words blazed hot in her mind.

_That hurt, _Susan thought, even the sound of her voice in her head sounded wounded. That sentence was sharper than his small, practical knife would have been if it had stabbed her heart. _That hurt, Teatime. That hurt and you know it. Take it back, _she wanted to call. But she didn't.

He was looking at her again, with those horrible eyes.

_That hurt, Teatime._

She had the strongest urge to hurt him, too.

"I think I know you, Teatime," Susan said softly. "You're the mad kid they're all scared of, right?"

Mad. Yes, that was most definitely him. Kid. That fit as well, with his odd cheeriness, his boyish mannerisms, his skewed logic. Twisted Teatime.

He looked unnerved as he gazed back at her. Now _he _looked shaken.

"Banjo," the Assassin managed. His voice was different, it had a tone she'd never heard before from him. "I said grab her."

"Our mam said – " the burly man started, shaking his head in confusion. He looked lost, but no one was paying him any mind (unless the 'why won't that stupid lout just GRAB HER' running through the back of Teatime's head counted).

"The kid who didn't know the difference between chucking a stone at a cat and setting it on fire."

She could easily see him singeing a poor creature's fur, the curious look that would glint in his eyes followed by his maniacally charming grin.

"I said shut up," Teatime managed. He had meant to, but he'd forgot that he hadn't said it yet and was too shaken with memories to remember.

_Freak. _He had much experience with that term. He much preferred the word _fear_. He'd learned to love it, because fear was all he'd gotten besides bullying, and the fights and taunts were most definitely meant cruelly. There were good things, and there were bad things. Since taunts, he knew very well, were most definitely _bad, _he had, long ago, drawn the conclusion that fear must be good. So he drew on fear, thrived on it.

_Freak_. He didn't like that word.

"Get her, Banjo."

He sounded _desperate_.

Susan was beginning to realize why Teatime loved being in control so much, how he became so sleek when he had it. This was _fantastic_.

"The kind of little boy who _looked up doll's dresses,_" she added, moving in for the kill and barely holding back her glee.

Teatime shook his head emphatically. He was looking at her like Gawain did when he was caught red handed doing something he shouldn't.

Susan had always been intimidated by the dark Assassin. She had always secretly feared him. But now, he was reduced to this_,_ and it was _precious_. It was something Susan would treasure for the rest of her life. Something she would pull out and look at and hold dear to her heart. _Never _had the ever unflappable, ever cheerful, ever in power Teatime looked so discombobulated, so demeaned, or so completely guilty and terrified.

"I didn't…!" he whispered, eyes wide.

Banjo shook his head emphatically. He appeared to still be on the same train of thought as earlier, not following the current crazed conversation the rest had turned to. Susan had almost forgotten about him with her foray into the Assassin's psyche, but the burly man was still stuck on –

"Our mam said – "

"_To blazes with your mam!_" Teatime called, all the pent up confusion and frustration coming out.

"What'd you say about our mam?!" Medium Dave growled angrily, drawing a sword.

Susan was loving this.

"I bet no one wanted to _play_ with _you_," she added. "Not the kid with _no friends_."

Lonely. He'd been lonely until Susan had come, but he hadn't known how to go about fixing it. He didn't know how make friends. As he'd told Sydney, he just didn't have the knack. Not that he'd wanted to; just because he was lonely didn't mean that he _needed_ them. But Susan had shown him how nice that was. Now she'd taken it away.

Strangely enough, with all his cunning and genius and darkness, there was only one thought in Teatime's mind, and it wasn't something one would expect.

_It's not fair,_ was all he could think. It had all been going so well, everything had been so perfect, and now it was shattering around him just like his mangled mind – his first ever service as a full-fledged Assassin was being ruined. _It's not fair. She's not playing _fair!

He opened his mouth, tried to speak, but for once in his life he found no words. He tried again, unable to lift his eyes.

"Banjo, you do as I tell you," it came out halfhearted. It came out weak, like the last breath of a dying man, like the last whimper of a dog before it fell unconscious, like the last sniff of a child who finally realized they were never getting that rocking horse. It was then that Susan felt a pang of pity, and she hated herself for it. This was the man who had cheered her up in Byer's, who had dueled her with pokers, who had listened to her go on and on about masquerades –

– who had nailed a dog to a ceiling. Who had murdered countless people. _Who she had just met today and never, ever, ever had before._

The fact that she had felt even the slightest stab of sympathy for the crazed Assassin only made her more furious with him now. The fact that he still held some part of her, could still stir some feelings in her beyond hatred and anger was just _wrong. _She owned herself, and she _liked it _that way.

Banjo was not privy to these thoughts.

"Our mam – " he stammered, looking close to tears. "Our mam – our mam _said…_"

He never finished, for with a massive _crack _of reality, Ma Lilywhite rose up from the ground – a huge, shiver-worthy woman with wide, angry eyes.

"'Ave you been a _bad _boy, Banjo!?" she shrieked. "Are you lettin' 'im get into trouble again, eh, Davy?! You 'ave, ain't ya?!"

"No, mam – no mam!" Medium Dave called, shaking his head emphatically. That seemed to be rather popular at the moment.

Susan glanced at Teatime, whose eyes were glinting and lips barely holding back a smile as the two _grown men _began to shriek and beg on their knees at their mam's feet. His grin kept growing as the scene continued, and he seemed close to laughter when Medium Dave zapped out of existence.

He had been so troubled before, and now here he was, enjoying the Game like a little boy. That short attention span of his was, for once, serving him well. But Susan didn't _want _him to feel happy in the slightest; she wanted him _gone, _and she needed to get _away._ With that, she pulled back her angry fist and swung at him, hoping Teatime would be too preoccupied with the scene that had just taken place to see her coming.

He wasn't, she quickly learned, as his fingers wrapped around her wrist with inhuman speed. He looked at her with extreme amusement, and shook his head ever so slightly.

"Oh no," Teatime said softly, widening his eyes for emphasis as he continued. "I don't think so." He stepped closer, shoving her arm downwards and reminding her how unnaturally strong he was. "This place, it gets into your head, doesn't it? It pokes around and finds out how to _deal_with you."

His fingers were digging into her wrist hard enough to make her cry, but she didn't let them pass her watering eyes. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He tilted his head before twisting her arm painfully, and the rest of her fell into place as her back slammed against his chest. She gasped in surprise, holding as perfectly still as she possibly could. It was odd, how clearly she could feel him behind her. It was odd, how well she knew he was there. It felt wrong, how she was fighting to keep from trembling. Her heart was pounding and every inch of her was screaming. For or from what, she didn't know.

"But I'm in touch with my inner child," Teatime whispered gently, his face far too close for comfort, before he stepped to the side and wrenched her hair back. Susan resisted the urge to shriek, and the Assassin noted how her hair wasn't wriggling in his grip. He was rather disappointed, and, upon later reflection, realized that this should have been his first clue, but he was too focused on making Susan very, very uncomfortable to worry about that at that very moment. The look on her face and feel of her so near was just wonderful. "It's much more fun," he added, barely allowing the words to pass through his lips as he leaned in towards her. This was her chance. He owed her that much for everything she'd shown him, even if she had taken it away. And he still wanted her. Here she could take him, he could finish his service, and things could go back to normal. But his service came first, and if Death's spunky granddaughter would stand in his way she would stand in his way. But he'd give _her_ – and her alone – this chance.

_Care to join me?_

– Susan could almost hear him. She could definitely feel him, hot against her. It was full, completing, floating. Her cheeks felt like they were burning, and her stomach was evaporating inside her. Worst of all, she wanted it. She wanted it so badly – the closeness, the heat, the bliss, and tension. And it was too thick, too rich and too much and not enough all at the same time. She felt like crying. She felt like screaming.

And then he was gone, flying across the floor in a blur as the pull on her hair slacked, and for the first time since she had seen him here in the castle she could breathe once more.

"No pullin' girls' hair. That's bad!" Banjo admonished.

_Oh, bless you,_ Susan thought, her mind so much clearer.

And yet part of her wanted to curse him for making her empty and alone again, and that made her furious. No, not at poor Banjo. At Teatime. How _dare _he make her want him.

The Assassin sat up abruptly, grinning broadly as Susan briskly stepped after him. He couldn't resist showing off a bit, flipping up onto the railing with the sword in hand. He pointed it at her playfully – or rather, as playfully as one could point a sword when they very well might use it.

"I'm going to have so much fun with this," Teatime lifted the blade to his face, watching it slice air in awe. "It's so light," he added, his voice very pleased and slightly impressed.

"You wouldn't dare use it – my grandfather will come after you," Susan growled.

"He comes after everyone," he countered. Apparently he'd even come after _her, _his own granddaughter_. _One couldn't avoid someone like _that._

"He's very _single minded,_" Susan added dangerously.

_So you've made your choice,_ he thought. It was sad, really. He'd miss her.

"I'll be ready for him."

And perhaps, after he finished with Death, he could get Susan back. Nothing would tame the beast like a few weeks of whatever the afterlife was. Maybe she'd even miss him.

The sword came crashing down, slicing the very dimension it slashed through the duchess.

And nothing happened.

Teatime blinked, trying again with a swift thrust through the heart. Odd things happened. Glitches, hiccups. This was one of them.

Wasn't it?

Susan smiled. It was eerie.

Teatime glanced behind himself nervously. Perhaps the balcony _hadn't _been such an excellent idea. He dropped the sword; it should appear in the Unseen University, and from the look on Susan's face, _he'd _be going there very, very soon.

"It doesn't work here," she said smugly, stepping towards him.

Oh, clever Susan. So she hadn't been in danger, and she'd known it. She'd played him as he'd thought he was playing with her. No wonder he found her so fascinating. As paradoxical as it all sounded, Teatime found himself immensely glad that he had failed in killing her. She was too layered, too interesting to leave this world just yet. He found himself looking at her with a mixture of respect, surprise, and the slightest tinge of worry. But he wasn't afraid. He was incapable of fear.

"There's no _Death _here," she continued.

No wonder her hair didn't wriggle. That was just sad. Teatime loved Susan's hair.

She smiled again. It looked evil, and should never cross a heroine's face.

"Hi, inner child!" she called brightly, striking him across the cheek.

The Assassin didn't stop her. She deserved the satisfaction; she had played fairly (here, at least) and here she'd won. Besides, it'd be awkward grabbing her from up on the railing.

It hurt, and he touched his jaw lightly.

"_I'm the inner babysitter!_"

That was brilliant. She was brilliant. He couldn't deny the poetic appeal of her genius words as she struck out her hand and sent him over the edge. But Teatime wouldn't let her go so easily. No, if he was going down, he was going down _with _Susan. He somersaulted in the air, grasping her outstretched wrist and pulled her with him. She caught the railing as his had slipped to her sleeve.

This wouldn't do. They were supposed to _fall_. He'd always wondered what it'd be like, but he had always been too busy with his training to deal with the incapacitating injuries that would most likely ensue. Now they were _very _high, and they would fall for _so _long. It'd probably resemble flying, like they had with Binky, only this time there wouldn't be anything underneath them, and the Unseen University would be there on the other side to hopefully heal them. It'd be _fun_.

But Susan wasn't letting _go_.

He almost clicked his tongue patronizingly, but decided against it, pulling out his knife with his free hand instead. Susan's eyes widened as she stared down at him in shock. He grinned, which only caused her face to grow more confused and flustered. He even saw a flash of fear in her eyes. It was all very amusing.

Her sleeve ripped, and surprise clutched him as he fell.

The inner-child had been right. It _was_ like flying.

But the inner-babsitter had still won this round.

*

"You said there'd be passion," Astoria whined.

"I said I'd _consider _it."

"That was…" Blind Io started, shaking his eyeless head. "That was…"

"Epic?" Fate asked knowingly.

"Yes," the king of the gods agreed. "_Epic_."

Fate puffed up, feeling rather full of himself.

"I told you it would be."

"I'm under-impressed," the Lady yawned. "That's all there is to it?"

"What? What was it missing?" the empty-eyed god called defensively. "There was tension, chemistry, anger, mixed emotions, angst, longing, lust, love, twists – what more do you want, Lady?!"

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to speak –

"Is this part of the plan?" Astoria asked curiously.

The gods' heads snapped in her direction, peering down at the disc to see Teatime making his way from the Unseen University towards the Gaiters' house. Blind Io squinted the many eyes floating around his head, then glanced at Fate expectantly.

"Well?"

The god's mouth opened and closed for a few seconds as he gaped disbelievingly, then he glanced up, anger rigid in his face.

"He can't cheat fate! He's supposed to – " the god stammered, cutting himself off. "What does he think he's _doing?!_"

The Lady smiled smugly.

"Something epic, I'd guess."


	13. Shattered

**Author's Notes: I'm not near as satisfied with this chapter as I am the last, but here you are anyway. I guess this is it, the end of _One Dangerous Game_. Hard to believe that this was originally a oneshot I wrote when I couldn't fall asleep and was awake delirious one night. I hope you've enjoyed it, and please leave a review, even if this is ten years after I've posted it up. Seriously, I'll still be checking, and nothing makes my day quite like someone's comment ;-) Thank you so much for reading my fanfiction, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the dialogue; Terry Pratchett does. I'm sorry if I've upset anyone by using it, but I had to for this story to WORK. I didn't mean to make any copyright infringements or anything at all like that... I just really wanted to write this.

Round Seven

***

Teatime made his way down the familiar streets. He knew the path to the Gaiters' house so well now; he'd traveled it so many times. Here was the park where Susan had dueled him. There was the window he'd scaled so often. It was a familiar place, a good place – a place Susan would return to.

With a decisive nod, he slid into the kitchen window and sliced air with the sword while he waited. The time before she arrived would be dull, but at least he had this spoil of war, this prize, this new, most definitely _un_ordinary toy. What exactly could it cut? Was there anything that it _couldn't?_

The Assassin searched for some silverware, watching curiously as he chopped it up to bits. So yes, it sliced solid metal easily enough. What about teacups and mugs?

What about _eyelashes?_

*

Susan sighed in relief as she spoke with her grandfather outside the Gaiters' house. The usual awkwardness presided strongly, and for once she was glad of it. It was something familiar that she could latch onto. Something to remind her that the turmoil of today was over and that she could forget it in a sea of attempted conversation that would most definitely end in sad failure.

She slid off her gloves, she slid off her coat. She breathed in the normality and safety of the Gaiters' warm house. She thrived in the fact that she was safe and she was done, and that her trials and tribulations were over. All she had to do was make some cocoa.

"There are some biscuits," the governess mentioned as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed the kettle.

Cocoa.

Susan shoved the word out of her mind as she attempted to make it simultaneously. She didn't want to remember the person so strongly attached to the warm, sweet, chocolate-y substance.

This proved more difficult than she had first imagined.

"I'm afraid I've ruined many of your mugs, but I would very much appreciate it if you were to make me a cup anyway."

Susan literally froze. She didn't turn. She didn't jump. She didn't screech or flinch. She simply froze, unmoving, even unbreathing. She clutched the kettle like a lifeline, and it was half a second before she realized that she was trembling.

Fingers wrapped around hers, sliding the kettle from her grasp and placing it on the counter.

"On the other hand, hot chocolate can wait. We have much to talk about, don't we, Susan? We have quite a score to settle, don't we?"

Her eyes fluttered shut.

"You're dead," she managed. It came out low and raspy, as her throat had barely managed to open.

"Do I _feel _dead, Susan?"

Warm, rough fingers slid into hers. Entwining, softening, eternity, ending, and beginning all meeting.

"I missed you." They left involuntarily. She had not thought the words before they had slid from her lips. They had escaped from her very heart, skipping her brain entirely.

His soft touch tightened gently as he squeezed her hand.

"I missed you, too," he replied. She could hear the crooked, childish grin in his voice. She could see his face perfectly painted in her mind, his expression down to the glint in his eyes. She knew him too well.

Susan didn't dare open her eyes. If she did the illusion would shatter, and reality would come crashing down with a terrible coldness. She would remember why it could never work. Sense would fall onto her shoulders and she would remember why they could never be. But at this moment, all she wanted was not to be alone anymore. All she wanted was to spend eternity with someone who would want to spend eternity with her, someone who knew her, someone she could spill her soul to and spend all her days with. She forgot any obstacle, and only knew the sweetness of the two of them, the sweetness of the moment.

_It hurts. You hurt, and we can never work, _she realized, sense catching up with her. The warm feeling growing inside her turned bitter, but stayed just as sweet. A bittersweet burn, an amazing ache, a dark longing, and a sad truth. But it was so, and there was no way around it.

A single tear slid down her cheek as her free hand whipped to the kettle and she whirled around, eyes snapping open as she swung it at his head. Teatime ducked, leaping back and stretching out the sword. He looked surprised, disappointed. He looked as close to hurt as she had ever seen him.

Susan glanced at the glowing, glinting blade apprehensively, still clutching the kettle. Teatime shook his head.

"Oh, Susan. Must you ruin it? Must you? We could have so much _fun. _Don't rob yourself. I know you want it just as much as I do."

Susan stared at him silently, unable to speak. She felt like crying, and her throat felt raw and weak. She shook her head slowly, and the Assassin's face changed, emptying and darkening. He jerked his head towards the archway into the living room.

"March," he said coldly. But Teatime was never cold. He was bright, he was cheerful, he was dark, he was sleek – but he was only cold when he was angry. And he was beyond angry. He was _hurt_.

Susan nodded and turned towards the arch.

SUSAN? Death's voice echoed. It sounded slightly worried.

Teatime cocked his head, a terrible grin spreading across his face as he pushed her forwards with the tip of the blade, somehow managing to keep from slicing her back open.

"Well, well," he said brightly as Death came into view. "This is… _unexpected. _A family affair."

Susan had a sinking suspicion that he had never been so dangerous.

Susan's sinking suspicion was terribly correct.

Her grandfather stared dumbly as Teatime circled the governess, gliding across the room with an inhuman grace.

"I wonder, is it possible to kill… _Death?_"

Susan had never been so afraid. She knew too well that no one could hurt her grandfather, but if one believed, if one _truly _believed he could kill Death, then there probably was a chance that he could. But only someone completely and totally bonkers could possibly believe such a thing. Unfortunately, completely and totally bonkers had 'Teatime' written all over it.

_You're crazy, _she thought. _Why do you have to be so crazy?_

The sad thing was that she loved how off he was. She loved watching his confusion at simple things. She loved laughing at his cluelessness, until it came to taking lives.

"This must be a very special sword," he speculated, gazing at the glistening blade idly.

Susan noted how he hadn't glanced at her once throughout this. He was always looking at Death or his sword. Teatime noticed she noticed out of the corner of his eye, and was glad that she did. Hopefully she felt dejected, or at the very least angry for being ignored. He _wanted _her to be angry. He _wanted _her to be upset. He _wanted _her to feel lost and helpless, because he could take care of Susan. He could keep her company and make her laugh. He could fight with her and talk with her and he was her match; they were _equals_. Yet here she was, turning him away, and he had opened up to her like he had no one else. He had _apologized _sincerely to her. He'd actually _cared _about her and wanted to make her _happy_.

Now he felt so dry and empty thinking about her, and with the thought came a terrible stabbing pain somewhere in his torso that he didn't like it one bit. He wanted Susan to _hurt _just as badly as he did. He'd _find _a way to make her hurt just as much as he did, starting with Death. Then he'd find some other way to make her feel as horribly as he possibly could. Then, maybe _then_ she'd realize ignoring him would get her nowhere. Maybe then she'd give him the light of day.

Teatime was really getting rather desperate.

He beheaded a doll with the sword like a knife through butter. It was fun to watch, and wonderful to hear the air slice as he pulled the blade up to his face again.

"And it certainly works _here._" He had to make sure Susan knew he knew. "And of course, it might well not be regarded as murder," the Assassin added as he started across the room. He almost danced with each step as he slid through the air, ever elegant. "Possibly it is… a _civic act_," he pondered brightly. Susan could only watch silently. "It would be, as they say… _the big one._"

What would it be like to be able to boast of killing _Death? _Just imagine what the Assassins' Guild would have to say about _that_. Of course, an Assassin wasn't supposed to kill without being paid to do so, but there had to be exceptions when such a golden opportunity presented itself. Not that he'd listen to them anyway. Besides, making Susan miserable was worth breaking a few rules for.

"You may have some personal knowledge about your vulnerability," Teatime explained to the skeleton sitting silently and eating a biscuit, before turning to the governess with an odd glint in his eyes. "But I'm pretty certain," his voice was loud at this part of the sentence, but it softened as he continued and met her eyes, "that Susan here will quite definitely die." The word 'die' somehow drew out and echoed. Death's granddaughter hid a shiver. "So I'd rather you didn't try any… last minute _stuff._"

I _AM _LAST MINUTE STUFF, Death sounded slightly dangerous as he stood to his skeletal feet and glared at the Assassin before Susan.

Teatime was momentarily nonplussed. So Death was as witty as his granddaughter was. He probably should have expected that.

And then he heard the noises.

Susan stiffened with worry.

"I don't remember them asking for anything that made a noise," she observed somewhere between nervously, quietly, and frustratedly, glancing at her grandfather.

OH, THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN THE STOCKING THAT MAKES A NOISE, he explained. OTHERWISE WHAT IS FOUR THIRTY AM _FOR?_

Susan almost cursed.

"There are children?" Teatime blinked, remembering Susan's occupation. He'd been so wrapped up in all this he'd almost forgotten. He met the governess's eyes. "Oh yes. Of course." He could barely hold back the grin that threatened to show as he thought of how much Susan cared for those tiny things. "Call them."

She'd seen it coming. She _knew _that glint in his eyes.

It was not, and I repeat _not, _a good sign.

"Certainly not," Susan said as decisively, as boldly and as certainly as she could possibly say it. The words were much softer than she would have liked, but the message carried in her tone. She would have used her **Voice** if it had been anyone else, but she had the sinking suspicion that it wouldn't have made the slightest difference on him.

"It will be instructional," he argued gently. "_Educational_." He looked slightly thoughtful. "And when your adversary is Death, you can't help but be... the good guy." Teatime had always wondered what that would be like, but it was such an elusive, no-fun role that he always ended up playing what any novelist would call the 'villain'. It would be such a thrill to try something new for a while, before slipping back into himself. He could frighten the heck out of Susan while he did it, too. "Call them."

Susan glanced desperately at Death as Teatime looked down hall towards the noises.

_What can I do? _she mentally called.

And like a god sent, like an angel, Death _winked. _Susan almost sighed in relief. She didn't have to think. She wouldn't have to worry. Her grandfather had a _plan_.

"Gawain!" she called. "Twyla!"

The children looked a little sullen, being called away from their Hogswatch-morning revelry. Not to mention that Susan hadn't even beaten up a bogey yet. It was all highly disappointing.

"Come in, come in, curly-haired-tots," the Assassin said. It really didn't come out right. "Look at this bogeyman." Death glanced up from the chocolate chip cookie. The children looked under-impressed. "What should we do with him?"

Teatime seemed to be fairly occupied with the children, and Death most certainly wasn't doing anything. The Assassin was far too close to her charges for comfort.

"It's only a _skeleton,_" Gawain pointed out.

Susan shook her head desperately. They had to stay on his _good _side.

Teatime must have sensed her movement as only he could, because he whirled around to check on her. The governess stood still as he cast his eyes over her quickly, checking to make sure she wasn't doing any 'last minute stuff', before he turned back to the children.

"Yes, a nasty, creepy, horrible skeleton," he tried. It didn't seem to be invoking the right emotional response, though. At least _Susan _seemed unnerved enough, and that was all that mattered. He'd seen the look on her face. "Scary, huh?"

"He's eating a biscuit," Twyla pointed out dryly. Teatime knew that tone of voice far too well.

"A creepy bony man in a black robe." It was funny, how nothing about Death seemed to unnerve them in the slightest. Probably all those bogeys they'd run into. Not to mention Susan's influence.

_Aw, these children are far too like their governess for their own good, _he thought._ Fearless, dry, bold, blunt – _brave. _She's trained them up well, hasn't she?_ _Susan must be _so proud _of them_. _She must care for them _so much. _Just perfect. And speaking of which –_

"You're _fidgeting _with that kettle," Teatime called as he whirled around, pointing Death's blade at the governess. "With which I expect you're thinking of doing something... _creative_. Put it down. Please." Susan didn't glare back at him as he'd expected. No, she merely met his eyes and ever so slightly nodded. She probably should have known he would catch her, but she had to try. Her grandfather hadn't done anything in all this time, and Teatime was far too close to her charges for comfort. "_Slowly,_" he added, stretching out the word far more than necessary.

Susan complied most uncharacteristically obediently as she placed the kettle down on the nearest flat surface, never breaking eye contact. He almost cocked his head at her, realizing that there really was something she was trying to say – something she wanted to convey.

_Please. Please, just don't hurt them, _he read so clearly on her face, now that he knew something was there.

He remembered asking her '_please_'. Only a couple weeks ago he'd come to her window. '_**Please**__ acknowledge me, Susan. I'm not good at this. I haven't had much practice. __**Please **__don't do this. __**Please**__,_' he'd said. She hadn't obliged then. Why should he now?

"Huh, _that's_ not very creepy!" Gawain called, almost sounding a little disappointed. "It's just bones. It's just _standing _there. It's not even making woo-woo noises. And anyway, _you're _'creepy'. You're eye's _weird!_"

Susan paled.

_No, _she thought. _No, Gawain, you didn't just –_

"Really?" Teatime asked ever so softly_. _His voice was hardly above a whisper, his posture as sleek as it always was when he had power over someone. He leaned down, face to face with the little boy.

Susan panicked. She knew the look on his face, the way his stance had changed. By god, what was Death _doing? _Gawain couldn't have been more was just _standing _there, and he had _winked _at her. He'd _winked! _There had to be something – _anything –_ that Susan could do to stop this insane Assassin before he did something... insane. Or worse. She reached behind her for the poker, feeling for its familiar, rusty surface that carried with it safety and power.

"Well let's see how creepy..." Teatime's voice didn't even constitute as a whisper. It was a mere murmur,barely audible but most definitely there. "...I can be." He blinked, like he had at Medium Dave, ever so softly, ever so slowly, before he stood in a blur and raised Death's sword.

Susan raised the poker, praying to whatever god was listening that Teatime wouldn't notice.

Well, Astoria, Fate, Blind Io, and the Lady were all listening _and _watching very intently. But none of them wanted to interfere, so Susan's pleas went on deaf ears. Or at least ears that couldn't care less what happened, so long as they got a good show out of it. The main point being that Teatime _did _notice, and stepped back behind Death with the glowing sword high above his head.

Susan didn't think. She just threw.

At least not at first. The moment the metallic firearm left her hand, she did think. The moment the poker left her fingers and started sailing through the air, Susan allowed herself to remember him. She thought about the time he'd faked a proposal to get her out of a ball. She thought about how she probably would have said yes if he had really asked a week or so after the fact. She thought about how he'd gotten her drunk and they'd step danced. She thought about the time he'd sprained her wrist. She thought about how he had kissed her when her head had been pounding. She thought about the way he held her so close.

She wanted to take it back, but it was too late. She wanted to pull back the poker, to _un_throw it, but it was too late. She wanted to go back in time to the kitchen three minutes ago, scream yes, fly away on Binky to the Counterweight Continent, and live happily ever after with his charmingly insane smile. But it was too late.

_We never would have worked, anyway, _she thought. _We never could have._

Susan just knew that even now he wanted to cause her great psychological pain, because the eyes gazing back at her clearly said:

_I would have worked for _you, _Susan. I would have made us work for _you, _if you'd only given me the chance. Anything for _you_._

...and nothing could hurt her more.

Teatime dropped the sword (which Death quite elegantly caught) as he smiled at Susan, but his eyes were confused. A black tear and a clear one were sliding slowly down his cheeks, one from each eye. Black and White as always.

He felt so empty and odd, and the poker hurt so terribly, but he didn't mind because of what he saw. The shattered look of pain that crossed Susan's face as he dropped the sword was enough. Now he knew that Susan _did _hurt just as badly as he did. Perhaps she had all along, only for one of those strange reasons he could never grasp no matter how hard she tried to explain she couldn't let him know. At least he could die contented, knowing that one dear fact: Susan _did _care enough to hurt.

"Oh no," Teatime said, his voice filled with befuddlement and tinges of pain. "It couldn't have gone _through _you." He was talking so lightly, even as he was crying. He was talking so lightly, even as Susan was shattering before him.

He'd _miss _her. He'd _miss _Susan. _His _Susan.

"So many ribs... and things."

With that, the Assassin promptly fell backwards, dead, to the ground.

"It only kills monsters," Twyla explained matter-of-factly.

"_Stop time now!_" Susan called, almost angrily.

Yes, he was a monster. Yes. But he was something else, too. He was something special, something different. She didn't want to hear him called so, even if he more than deserved it.

Death snapped, and with a _swooshing _sound as reality bent to his will, time came to a halt.

Susan was horrified. Susan was lonely. Susan was grief stricken. Susan's heart had just crumbled into ten-thousand tiny pieces, and she, quite frankly, didn't know what to do. So Susan did the only thing she could do to keep her whole self from shattering then and there. Susan got _angry._

"You _winked _at me! I thought you had a _plan!_" she growled.

INDEED, OH YES, Death agreed. I _PLANNED _TO SEE WHAT YOU WOULD DO.

"_What?!_"

I DID ADD THE SPARKLY STARS AND THE NOISE, THOUGH, her grandfather put in hopefully. I THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE APPROPRIATE.

"And if I hadn't done anything?"

Teatime wouldn't be dead.

Twyla and Gawain _would_. Or at least Gawain – she wouldn't put it passed the Assassin. Or perhaps the child would only be missing an arm.

Susan shuddered.

No, she couldn't regret what she had done. It couldn't have ended any differently, no matter what Teatime had thought. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

I DARE SAY I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF SOMETHING... AT THE LAST MINUTE.

"That _was _the last minute!"

THERE IS ALWAYS TIME FOR ANOTHER LAST MINUTE, Death explained. Susan glowered. The skeleton turned around towards the Assassin's still body, poker protruding rather eerily from his chest. STOP PLAYING DEAD, MR. TEH-AH-TIM-MEH, he said.

Susan watched as his soul lifted from his corpse, barely able to keep her eyes on him, but equally challenged to keep them away. He looked mildly surprised.

"You got it... _right,_" the Assassin said in shock.

OF COURSE, Death replied.

Susan felt slightly warm inside despite herself. Perhaps that would be enough for him, hearing his name uttered correctly.

Teatime glanced at her as he began to fade, grinning sadly at her before he left.

_No, Susan, _he seemed to say. _Nothing's enough without you anymore. But oh well. I'll be there on the other side when you come. And I can be patient when I have to._

_You just hate it like hell, _she replied.

_That's right, _he conveyed back, his grin widening a notch as he faded into nothingness.

It was odd how they could communicate so well. It was odd how from his mismatched eyes she could draw such distinct, detailed conclusions. But she could, there was no doubt about that.

Strangely enough, that night, as the gods passed out tissue, cleaned up spilled popcorn, and balled respectively, as Susan lied in bed holding back tears, and as Teatime lied idle in the afterlife, at the exact same moment they both thought of one another.

_She won, _Teatime pondered. _She won the Game and killed me._

_I won that battle, _thought Susan. _I've killed him, but he won the Game. He's scarred me. I won't ever forget him. I'll never get over that crazed Assassin, gods help me. And it's not bloody fair._

Life never is.


End file.
